


Take me by the hand (Ineffable Kinktober 2020)

by Phoenix_Soar



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hell Wins the Apocalypse (Good Omens), Anal Sex, Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale to the Rescue (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Claiming Bites, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Discreet Gentlemen's Club (Good Omens), F/F, F/M, Face-Sitting, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Ficlet Collection, Frottage, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Ineffable Kinktober 2020, Ineffable Spouses (Good Omens), Intercrural Sex, Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Male-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Pool Sex, Possessive Aziraphale (Good Omens), Quote: Ngk (Good Omens), Rimming, Scene: Paris 1793 (Good Omens), Scene: Rome 41 AD (Good Omens), Sexual Roleplay, Smut, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Tree Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Water Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar
Summary: Prompt 13. Kink-free -When Aziraphale closes his eyes, he can almost believe that it’s Crowley.~***~A collection of ficlets featuring Aziraphale and Crowley, with varying degrees of smut, for Ineffable Kinktober 2020 - ft Ineffable Husbands, Ineffable Wives and Ineffable Spouses!Themes range from fluffy, silly, feelsy to angst and darker tones. Relevant content warnings are included inside individual chapters.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 184
Kudos: 292
Collections: Ineffable Kinktober 2020





	1. (Licking/Biting) - 'make me yours'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **1: Licking/Biting** \- In a world where Hell won, Crowley takes a desperate measure to protect Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My contributions for Ineffable Kinktober 2020. I'll hopefully update every day, though there might be delays depending on work. More tags will be added as we go on.
> 
>  **Warning** : Implied off-screen violence and non-con (not between Crowley and Aziraphale)

The walls of Hell, against all expectations, are cold.

Aziraphale discovers this when he is pushed up against one in a corridor, a dark empty passageway in a dark empty corner of the labyrinthine bowels that make up the pit.

The chill seeps into Aziraphale’s back through the thick fabric of his coat*. It is a violent contrast to the scorching heat all down his front as Crowley pins him in place with his own body.

(* Grimy and singed, for the first time in a hundred and eighty years.)

Aziraphale’s breath catches in his throat. He is familiar with the heat of Crowley’s body, his corporation as warmblooded as any human’s, and the precious few times Crowley has pressed him against a wall before are forever branded in Aziraphale’s memory.

But the familiar rise of unfulfilled desire is now tempered with the cloying fear and tension that have settled within him from the moment he was dragged down here.

The moment Hell won.

‘Aziraphale.’

Swallowing, Aziraphale meets Crowley’s eyes; the striking yellow of his irises is swiftly bleeding into the whites. The intensity in his gaze holds Aziraphale in place as surely as the Demon’s body.

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley repeats, and there is a sense of urgency in his voice that belies the position they are in. ‘You understand why I did what I did, don’t you?’

The words make sense, but all Aziraphale can do is stare. He’s been unable to say a word ever since he was forced to his knees in the colossal throne room of Hell earlier, with his ethereal powers cut off and cowed into submission alongside the few thousand other surviving Angels.

Angels that survived Armageddon - only to be taken prisoner, to the victorious cheers of Demons.

‘Angel … please.’

The gentle plea loosens the knot of tension enough for Aziraphale to exhale, his body relaxing ever so slightly.

‘Crowley,’ he says, his voice hoarse. ‘Let me go.’

‘I can’t,’ Crowley says, unhappiness twisting his face into a frown. ‘This area is about as empty as Hell gets, but there might be someone watching. Can’t risk them catching on to us, angel. I …’ he hesitates for a moment, ‘I’m meant to be claiming you right now.’

The phrase sends a shiver down Aziraphale’s spine. He’s certain Crowley feels it.

‘Claiming,’ Aziraphale echoes, his voice breaking.

‘I’m sorry, I had to,’ Crowley says, the urgency returning to his voice. He is still pressed flush against Aziraphale, but his grip around the Angel’s wrists soften, thumbs stroking over his fluttering pulse.

‘You heard them back there, in the throne room. You heard what they intend to do.’

Aziraphale had, indeed. His blood runs cold again as he recalls the Prince of Hell, looming over the defeated Angels from their throne, declaring Hell’s victory over Heaven.

He recalls the ripple of fear that washed over every Angel, like a tangible wave, when Beelzebub drawled at the gathered Demons to help themselves to the _spoils of war_.

The implications of those damning words had just sunk in when Crowley, out of sight until then, beat every other Demon to yell first, his voice fierce and echoing off the high walls,

‘I claim the Principality Aziraphale!’

No one else had taken note of Aziraphale’s shock as Beelzebub and another high-ranking Demon by their side turned to Crowley.

‘You forget there are princes, dukes and lords here that outrank you, Demon Crowley -’

‘Don’t mean to disrupt hierarchy, lord,’ Crowley interrupted quickly. ‘But after six thousand years of having my wiles thwarted, I should get to be the one to make my Adversary pay, yeah?’

Raising their eyebrows, Beelzebub turned to the Demon on their left. ‘What say you, Hastur?’

‘I don’t care who Crawly fucks up,’ replied the tall man-shaped thing, the empty black pools of his eyes locked on a single being. ‘As long as I get wank-wings. There’s a thing or two I’m dying to do to that pretty little face.’

Even from several places down the row, Aziraphale could see the fusion of terror and anger in Michael’s eyes.

Before he could process any of it, Crowley was in front of him. There was a smattering of laughter as Aziraphale was hauled away from the rest of the Angels.

‘You’re eager.’ Beelzebub looked amused.

‘Been waiting millennia to sink my teeth into this one, lord,’ replied Crowley with a sharp grin.

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. ‘Get out then. Dagon, you begin. Make your claim.’

The last thing Aziraphale heard before Crowley marched him out of the room was a female voice, filled with scorn and chilling laughter, calling Uriel’s name.

Crowley hadn’t looked at him once until they reached the corridor they are in now, spinning around to slam Aziraphale against the cold wall.

Aziraphale doesn’t know if any Demons followed them, but Crowley doesn’t release him. He looks less like the cruel facade he’d put up in the throne room, however, and more and more like the friend Aziraphale has come to know and love on Earth.

‘If I hadn’t announced my claim,’ Crowley is now saying quickly, ‘someone else would have. And they …’ he trails off, brows furrowed. ‘Aziraphale, I’m sure I don’t have to explain what those Demons will do to the Angels they take.’

Aziraphale remembers the way Hastur had looked at Michael and feels his heart twist, in both horror and pity. He may not have had the best relationship with the Archangels, but this is a fate he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

‘This is the only way I can save you,’ whispers Crowley.

‘Save me,’ Aziraphale repeats tremulously. ‘What saving is there, Crowley? We failed. We couldn’t stop Armageddon. And Hell won. It’s over.’

‘Not for us. Not yet. I can keep you safe -’

‘By claiming me?’

Crowley’s lips tighten in a thin line. ‘Yes.’

Aziraphale meets his heated gaze, flaming like fire in the dim light, and waits.

Crowley visibly struggles to get the next words out. ‘It’s a … it’s a sort of bond. I’d be marking you as mine, essentially.’

‘Your share of the spoils of war.’

‘You know I’d never treat you like that,’ Crowley says, his eyes widening. ‘But … yes. To the others, it would mean you belong to me. Once you bear my mark, no one will be allowed to touch you or hurt you in any way.’

‘And if you don’t claim me…?’

Crowley hesitates, his lips turning down. ‘An unclaimed prisoner is fair game for all.’

Aziraphale exhales shakily, his heart thumping frantically in his chest.

‘Gosh, angel, I’m sorry, it sucks. It all sucks, all the options are shite, but -’

‘Not all of them,’ Aziraphale mumbles.

Crowley stills, staring at him. ‘Angel…?’

‘Is it permanent, the claim?’ Aziraphale interrupts.

‘… Yes. As far as I know.’

‘And would you be - can you control me? Through this … bond?’

There is a pause. ’No. It’s a mark. It binds a being to another. Incubi and Demons that worked crossroads used to claim humans they tempted or made deals with, to mark them as souls bound for Hell. In this case, you’d be marked as mine. That’s all.

‘Although …’ Crowley adds quietly, ‘even if it did give one control over the other, I'd hope you knew me better than to think I’d ever do that to you.’

‘No, no, of course not, my dear,’ Aziraphale says, voice dropping to a whisper.

Tense silence falls, broken only by the pounding beat of his heart and the roar of blood in his ears. Crowley hasn’t drawn away, and once more Aziraphale is acutely aware of his warmth, pressing him firmly against the chilly wall at his back.

Crowley’s breath washes over his lips.

‘Go on, then,’ Aziraphale says, his voice seeming unnaturally loud in the abrupt quiet between them.

‘Angel, I …’

‘Claim me, Crowley.’

A kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions passes across Crowley’s face, finally settling on grim determination. He holds Aziraphale’s gaze for another second before leaning forward, lowering his head until his lips graze the sensitive skin below Aziraphale’s left ear.

Aziraphale can’t stifle the little gasp that escapes him at the touch. His eyes flutter shut as Crowley’s mouth closes over his neck in what can almost, in any another situation, be called a kiss. His tongue, slick and scorching to the touch, laves over Aziraphale’s neck, warming his already heated skin.

He has imagined this before, Crowley touching him so intimately, claiming Aziraphale as his own.

But not like this. God, it’s not supposed to be like this.

Aziraphale gives a little sob as Crowley sucks gently on his neck, as if he is trying to already soothe the place he must abuse to leave his mark on Aziraphale. It will hurt; Aziraphale knows it will hurt.

At the sound, Crowley finally releases his wrists to run his hands down Aziraphale’s sides instead. His touch is soothing and, despite what’s about to happen, undeniably loving.

Aziraphale wraps his freed arms around Crowley’s shoulders, because he needs something to hold onto. In a world that was once free from Hell or Heaven, that something has always been Crowley. And now in a Hell that won Armageddon -

‘I’ll get you out of here,’ Crowley whispers suddenly, his lips moving over Aziraphale’s neck. ‘I promise. With this, you’ll be protected from the others, but we won’t stay here. I’ll figure out a way for us to escape. Together.’

‘And go where?’ Aziraphale returns. ‘Earth is destroyed.’

‘But not the rest of the Universe.’

Aziraphale opens his eyes, his heart leaping. ‘Alpha Centauri?’

‘Even further. Somewhere no one can find us.’

Aziraphale finds himself smiling slightly. He’s not certain that’s a promise Crowley can keep, what with all the odds currently against them. But he doesn’t voice it aloud, knowing his dear Demon will try anyway.

Crowley has always been good at that, holding out for the slightest hope.

And Crowley has always been good at this, keeping Aziraphale safe. If nothing else, he knows that _this_ , right now, is a promise Crowley can and will keep.

So Aziraphale murmurs, ‘Yes’, closes his eyes and tilts his neck to Crowley in invitation.

His resounding scream, as Crowley’s teeth pierce the tender flesh of his neck, sending a surge of infernal power through his very essence, would be heard as one of pure agony to any Demons that might be within earshot. They would rejoice in it, jeering at the sound of one of their own putting an Angel in his place.

But for Aziraphale, the pain of his claiming is stitched through with Crowley’s affection for him. He feels Crowley’s warmth all down his front, and the touch of his hands, which have never been anything but gentle on Aziraphale’s body.

He is made into Crowley’s, and Aziraphale realises he doesn’t regret it.

After what feels like hours, teeth is replaced again with tongue. Aziraphale pants, his chest heaving, as Crowley licks and soothes at the claiming mark he has left on him.

With one more kiss, Crowley draws away fully, leaving Aziraphale leaning against the wall. Immediately, he misses the Demon’s warmth.

Eyes dark and unreadable, Crowley observes what he’s done.

‘All these thousands of years of wanting to make you mine,’ he says, his voice a rasp. ‘This isn’t how I wanted to do it.’

At the look of surprise on Aziraphale’s face, Crowley scoffs a little. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You knew how I felt about you all along.’

Biting his lower lip, Aziraphale meets Crowley’s eyes and makes a decision.

‘I did. Make me yours, then.’

Crowley blinks. ‘What?’

Gingerly, Aziraphale fingers the bruise on his neck. The flesh is tender and he winces. ‘Consider this claiming a formality, for Hell. But outside of it, I want to be yours, in the way we both truly want.’

‘Angel -’

‘You know how I feel about you, too,’ Aziraphale points out simply.

Crowley exhales, choking out a small chuckle. ‘Fucking heaven, angel.’

Smiling for the first time since everything went pear-shaped, Aziraphale pulls Crowley close again. He melts into Crowley’s embrace when the Demon immediately responds, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale.

‘I’ll get us out, I promise,’ Crowley says again, earnest and serious.

Leaning up to kiss him, Aziraphale whispers, ‘This is fine, too. I’d rather be yours in Hell than alone anywhere else.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: commits to Ineffable Kinktober bc work is too busy and I hope writing drabbles will get me to write every day  
> Also me: writes 2k words of trash for the very first prompt ugh
> 
> I didn't mean to start off with such a hardcore theme lmao. I promise there will also be loads of fluffy and feelsy ficlets in this collection!
> 
> Come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	2. (Distracted Sex) - light from the heavens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **2: Distracted Sex** \- It has been too many years since Crowley got to have Aziraphale like this - but the Angel’s attention seems to be elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note on content:** top!Crowley, bottom!Aziraphale, Crowley has a penis, Aziraphale has a vulva, both male-presenting
> 
> I wrote this as a missing scene from my [‘Wicked Thing’](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546879) verse, set after [‘When in Rome’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605847). 
> 
> You don’t have to be familiar with that series to get this part (but if Crowley and Aziraphale being friends-with-benefits, pining-while-fucking through the ages and having lots of emotional sex is your thing, check it out? ^^)

The grass underfoot had felt deceptively soft and lush, as it always does at first. A half hour later, however, the hardness of the ground is grating on Crowley’s knees.

He doesn’t let that stop him, though. It has been too many years since last he got to have this, coming across Aziraphale at a time and place affording enough privacy for the Angel to act on the looks of longing he gives Crowley.

The way he has been looking at him for nearly a century now, after that fateful meeting in Rome.

Crowley hadn’t actually foreseen this turn of events tonight. Till now, all of their secret trysts had taken place inside four walls, with locked doors and an opaque, if not particularly sturdy, roof over their heads.

This run-in on open grasslands would have, in the past, typically amounted to no more than an exchange of greetings, and perhaps amiable conversation until the sun came up and they continued on their separate ways.

Crowley had been anticipating just that, really, when Aziraphale appeared in the distance earlier, walking his way like a pale spectre glowing in the dark night.

He hadn’t anticipated the way Aziraphale trailed off during their talk, fixing Crowley with a sizzling look that has grown sharply familiar, before he pulled the Demon to him, down on him, on top of him.

The way he’d breathed, needy and begging, ‘Crowley, please.’

Crowley didn’t stop him then, because he never does when Aziraphale gets like this.

And he certainly isn’t going to stop now, despite how hard the grassy ground is proving to be on his knees.

There is no incentive strong enough to turn him away, not when he has Aziraphale under him like this, writhing and gasping as Crowley moves in him - a recurring experience, but rare and precious enough that Crowley counts and commits every encounter to memory.

Aziraphale is lovely, so very lovely and demanding like always. ‘Harder,’ he whispers; a familiar command.

Crowley digs his fingers into the dirt where his hands are planted on either side of Aziraphale’s head, ignoring the protest of his knees as he undulates his hips faster, thrusting harder, deeper, into slick, tight heat.

He is rewarded with a drawn-out moan and the rake of blunt fingernails down his back, stinging sharp enough for Crowley to know his skin is marked up.

So lost is he in the devastating vision Aziraphale makes, nude and lit by starlight against the dark grass, that he almost misses it; the sudden furrow in Aziraphale’s brows and the dart of his blue eyes over Crowley’s shoulders.

It happens again after Crowley boldly steals a kiss from Aziraphale’s lips, and then after Crowley sucks a bruise on his neck he will have to miracle away later.

Crowley’s first thought is the grass; after a few minutes, being fucked into the hard ground probably doesn’t feel good on Aziraphale’s back.

But Aziraphale, a contrived creature of comforts, is unapologetically upfront about such things. Yet he doesn’t say a word, even when he stops looking at Crowley altogether - and now it has reached the point of insulting and, frankly, egregious, because Aziraphale has no business being distracted by the sky when Crowley is balls deep in his cunt, the way _Aziraphale_ demanded of him in the first place -

The sky.

His pale eyes seem to reflect every star as he looks, troubled and uneasy, over Crowley’s shoulder at the unending expanse of glittering darkness above. His gaze darts here and there, and abruptly, it becomes unsettlingly clear what has Aziraphale so on edge.

It is as if a lump has lodged itself in Crowley’s throat. He slows down, and Aziraphale doesn’t take notice until Crowley has pulled out completely.

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale says then, startled, as his legs are carefully unwrapped from around Crowley’s waist.

‘This was a bad idea,’ Crowley mutters.

He feels inexplicably ridiculous as he kneels between Aziraphale’s spread legs, still achingly hard and keenly aware of Aziraphale’s pussy, glistening and _empty_ and mere inches from his cock.

‘Wait,’ says Aziraphale, propping himself up on his elbows as he looks worriedly at Crowley. ‘What is?’

‘This.’ Crowley gestures vaguely around them. ‘Out in the open, like this.’

‘Wait,’ Aziraphale begins to protest, but Crowley brings over Aziraphale’s white tunic - carefully folded on the ground several feet away - with a wave of his hand.

‘Get dressed.’ Crowley drops the garment on Aziraphale’s stomach.

‘Are we…’ Aziraphale’s brows knit together in concern and confusion. ‘You’re really done?’

‘It appears you are,’ says Crowley flatly.

Biting his lower lip, Aziraphale reaches for him. ‘I … no, no. Crowley, I didn’t -’

‘Next time, we’ll find an inn or something, yeah?’ Crowley waves over the dark messy heap that is his own clothes.

Aziraphale’s mouth slackens with guilt as full understanding dawns. ‘It’s not like that, Crowley. We - here is fine, we can -’

‘’M not gonna fuck you while you keep a look-out for Her, Aziraphale,’ Crowley says sharply. ‘Like you’re about to Fall any moment.’

Aziraphale inhales sharply. He grabs Crowley by the wrist when the Demon makes to snap his clothes on.

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Sure. You were just counting the stars with a prick in your cunt.’

‘She knows already.’

Crowley goes very still. He stares at the Angel.

Aziraphale’s cheeks are flushed. He drops his gaze. ‘She must, surely. The Almighty is omniscient, after all.’

That is true, Crowley supposes. He fidgets slightly, unsure how he is supposed to feel about Her possibly being aware of every filthy thing Crowley and Aziraphale have got up to in bed.

Bit uncomfortable, maybe. Inordinately smug, definitely.

‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ Aziraphale says gently, jolting Crowley back to the present. ‘I didn’t mean to put you off so. But I certainly wasn’t worrying about Falling. On the contrary, I … I worried about you.’

Crowley blinks at him. ‘What? Why?’

‘I don’t presume to know why the Lord turns a blind eye to us. But I am certain my superiors wouldn’t, if … if we were caught.’

Crowley makes a face, immediately understanding who Aziraphale is referring to.

‘Bunch of wankers -’

‘Who wouldn’t hesitate to smite you, dear boy. Or worse.’

‘And what, Aziraphale, you think they can see us from the sky? That’s not how it works.’

The Angel sighs. ‘I am aware. But I cannot help worrying, and well…’ he bites his lower lip, ‘before tonight, we’ve never … not in such an open place like this…’

‘Hmm.’ Crowley looks carefully at him. ‘We can stop and -’

‘I don’t want to stop,’ Aziraphale says at once, in that determined, shameless way he does when he unequivocally wants something from Crowley when they are intimate. ‘I do apologise for before, but … please, Crowley, I want to - that is, if you still want to…’

What a silly thing to say, really, Crowley thinks as he drops his black tunic to the ground, to Aziraphale’s blatant delight.

The thing is, Crowley always wants to. And Aziraphale knows that.

‘I’ll make it up to you,’ Aziraphale is saying in a hushed voice, placing his own tunic aside.

‘Yeah. You will.’

Aziraphale makes to sit up again, his eyes on Crowley’s cock, but the Demon pushes him back down.

‘You want to make it up to me? Then, angel, I want you to stay right there and take it.’

His words make Aziraphale’s breath hitch, which immediately transforms into a plaintive cry when Crowley settles between his legs and lowers his mouth to Aziraphale’s cunt.

Afterwards, Aziraphale doesn’t try to rush, unlike their usual clandestine meetings, and lets Crowley back inside him, trembling as the Demon slowly fucks him over the edge again.

He is still worrying, as Crowley notes from the handful of times Aziraphale’s eyes dart back to the sky, but he rocks eagerly into every thrust, his pussy clenching down on Crowley’s cock rhythmically, exciting and tormenting him in equal measure.

And when their mutual pleasures crest at last, Aziraphale looks at none but Crowley, his cry of rapture echoing, uninhibited, at the heavens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if my interpretation of ‘distracted sex’ is on the mark, but ah well. It’s smut at least XD
> 
> They’ll be switching (genitals and genders included) across different ficlets as we progress. I’ll make a note of such content at the beginning of each, so you can read/skip as per your tastes :)
> 
> Come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	3. (Rescue or Capture) - high stakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **3\. Rescue or Capture** \- Aziraphale comes to save Crowley from superstitious villagers, but the Demon doesn’t make it easy for him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note on content** : male-presenting Aziraphale, female-presenting Crowley, referred witch-hunts

Being burnt at the stake is mildly boring, Crowley finds.

It wouldn’t be for someone who was about to truly lose their life, she supposes, but in her case, Crowley is simply counting down the seconds until it’s safe to stop time and miraculously escape.

At least a half-hour, Crowley had promised the girl - the one with hair as red as the Demon’s, who was actually sentenced to burn this morning.

That is, until Crowley diverted the village folks’ attention to herself instead, with a few dramatic displays of occult magic*.

(* Making those cows fly over the heads of swooning villagers will never not be a fantastic use of her powers, as far as Crowley is concerned.)

Now bound to the stake, Crowley had intended to give a rousing and appropriately fear-inducing speech to waste enough time for the girl to properly flee before the villagers noticed.

But her executioner is doing a well enough job on his own, pompously listing out the endless sins Crowley is apparently guilty of, to the cheers and jeers of the pitchfork-wielding crowd.

One may assume that these so-called sins actually ring true for a Demon, unlike the mundanely normal humans that get branded as witches. But the thing is, ‘Devil-worship’ is a stretch, even for a Demon.

Especially when that Demon had only sauntered vaguely downwards.

And ‘fornicating with the Devil’ is just straight-up disgusting. Crowley would fuck Beelzebub and all their flies before she’d touch Satan, if it ever came to that.

Great, now she has that mental image to contend with and a reason to pray - to no one in particular - that it never comes to that.

Humans are the worst sometimes.

She is almost relieved when the list finally ends, and egged on by the raucous encouragement of the village people, the executioner holds up his flaming torch with a flourish.

‘Any last words, witch?’ He spits at her.

Crowley draws herself up, fixing the portly man with her slitted gaze long enough to make him squirm. She has just opened her mouth to deliver a scathing remark, when another voice booms out,

‘Stop this madness at once!’

Immediately silencing the crowd, the voice is as imperious as it is anxious, and above all, most familiar to Crowley’s ears.

‘Aziraphale?’

It is him, indeed, marching through the gathered villagers that part for him as the Red Sea parted for Moses. He approaches like a beacon, glowing even in the morning light with his pale clothes and even paler hair, those soft blue eyes locked on Crowley.

‘What are you doing here?’ Crowley hisses, more surprised than annoyed, as Aziraphale stops at the edge of the little pyre ringed with oil-doused wood.

Aziraphale frowns at her. ‘I could ask you the same.’

‘Who goes there?’ shouts the executioner, stepping forward in a manner that would seem intimidating to anyone that weren’t of supernatural origin.

‘Good sir,’ Aziraphale says stoutly, turning to him, ‘free this lady immediately.’

‘This here is no lady,’ he sneers. ‘We caught ourselves a witch!’

‘I assure you,’ retorts the Angel, unflappable, ‘that is no witch.’

There is an immediate uproar from the crowd, so loud behind him that Aziraphale winces slightly.

The executioner joins in, waving his torch accusingly at Aziraphale as he yells, ‘Have you not seen what she’s done? Do you not see her hellish eyes?!’

‘What has she done?’ asks Aziraphale primly, staunchly ignoring the second question.

‘The cows, man, the cows!’ Spittle flies from the man’s mouth as he rages. ‘Flying and mooing and - and - mooing and flying! This here is a degenerate, Satan-worshipping witch!’

Aziraphale blinks rapidly, looking from the man to Crowley, who has been observing all this with befuddled amusement.

‘What can I say, the cows couldn’t be helped.’ Crowley shrugs, a feat considering her bound hands. ‘The Devil demanded they fly.’

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale snaps, looking exasperated.

The executioner is beside himself. ‘You see?! She admits it! She has lain with the Devil himself!’

‘Now see here,’ Aziraphale begins, while Crowley drawls at the man, ‘Please, have you _seen_ the Devil? I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole - though he’s still a more desirable option than _you_.’

‘Enough!’ howls the man, looking mad with fury now. ‘Your sins have been laid bare and your sentence decided. You will burn, witch.’

He lowers the torch to the wood.

‘No, she will not.’

The flame disappears, leaving the torch smoking and singed.

There is a collective gasp from around them. The executioner drops the torch and whirls to face Aziraphale, pointing a shaking finger.

‘You -! You did that! You’re in cahoots with her! A witch! He is a witch!’

‘Oh, blessed heavens.’ Crowley rolls her eyes as the villagers shout and turn on Aziraphale, aiming their pitchforks at him. This has gone on too long and Crowley prepares to stop time, only slightly irritated that she now has to adjust her escape plans to save Aziraphale as well.

Before anyone can do anything, however -

‘You will find I am of a more divine persuasion than that.’

Crowley’s jaw drops as wings, blindingly bright and majestic, erupt from Aziraphale’s back, flaring out to show off the full length of their span.

The tone of the shouting and screams immediately change, and within seconds, there is no one shy of ten feet from Aziraphale, the villagers scrambling to back away from him. Among them is the executioner, who can only gape with bulging eyes.

‘This lady is to go free. Do I make myself clear?’ Aziraphale’s voice is strong and authoritative, brooking no argument as he stares down the executioner, wings glowing and aloft.

Crowley feels a shiver dance down her spine, a spark of _something_ igniting in her gut.

It takes a moment for the terrified man to find his voice. Trembling, he drops to his knees and clasps his hands. ‘Oh, forgive us, our Lord! We did not know this was a divine command unto us!’

‘Um, actually,’ mumbles Aziraphale, his previous image shattering at once.

‘Just get on with it, angel,’ Crowley hisses.

‘Right,’ says Aziraphale, still looking nonplussed. Clearing his throat, he hurries up onto the platform and rounds Crowley to cut her free of the bindings. His wings are still out.

‘Well, this is a thing,’ Crowley says dryly, rubbing at her chafed wrists.

‘Will you just hush up and play along? I’m trying to rescue you!’

‘Wha - _ngk_!’

Crowley’s legs are swept out from under her, and next moment, she finds herself in Aziraphale’s arms. Her cheeks burn even as she blinks in surprise, automatically placing her arms around Aziraphale’s neck.

There is that little flutter of something in her gut again, and Crowley knows exactly what it is.

Carrying Crowley as a man carries his wife to their marriage bed, Aziraphale walks to the front of the platform. The gaggle of humans watch them in utter silence, a mixture of awe, horror and disbelief on their faces.

‘I …’ Aziraphale clears his throat. Lowering his voice so that only Crowley can hear, he murmurs, ‘It seems rude to simply leave without saying something, after all that.’

‘Just get on with it, angel,’ Crowley repeats, with a great deal more softness this time.

‘Right, right, I should just - yes.’ With a sweeping flap of his large wings, Aziraphale takes to the air, Crowley cradled close to his body.

The pyre and the small village drop away from them, soon disappearing from view as the vast expanse of the green countryside whips by in a blur. Crowley sees none of it, however, her eyes instead locked on Aziraphale’s face, inches from her own, as the Angel flies them to whatever destination he has in mind.

Aziraphale meets her unblinking eyes and positively blushes, his cheeks reddening to a lovely glow. Crowley can’t even pretend she is not stupidly endeared by it.

‘Are you all right, my dear?’ Aziraphale asks, clearing his throat again. ‘That was quite a close call just now.’

Crowley chuckles low in her throat. ‘Sure, angel.’

‘What?’

‘I mean, you do realise none of that drama was needed?’

Aziraphale blinks at her, appearing genuinely confused. ‘What do you mean? They were about to burn you! You would’ve been discorporated.’

‘I would’ve _escaped_.’

‘How?’ demands Aziraphale, beginning to look annoyed. ‘That unpleasant little man was seconds away from -’

‘I’m a Demon, I have powers,’ Crowley says with somewhat exaggerated patience. Seeing the Angel about to argue, she adds, ‘I would’ve stopped time and got away before they set the fire. And then tinker with their minds a bit to make them think they were successful. No one would’ve been the wiser.’

‘Oh…’ Aziraphale trails off, his brows furrowed. ‘So everything I did to save you was pointless?’ The Angel looks most put out and - oh, yes, that is definitely a pout.

‘I didn’t say that,’ Crowley assures quickly. When Aziraphale continues to frown, Crowley smiles, tightening her arms around him, ‘You were a most dashing hero, bossing about that idiot.’

‘Really?’ Somehow Aziraphale manages to look terribly pleased and mortified at once.

‘Mm-hmm.’ Crowley leans her head on his shoulder. ‘I thought I was about to swoon.’

‘You did not,’ Aziraphale says, his face red.

Crowley snickers. ‘All right, maybe not. But I’m glad women haven’t started wearing drawers yet, ’cause if I’d been, they’d be utterly soaked and ruined.’

Aziraphale almost drops her in mid-air. ‘Wh - _Crowley_!’

Laughing again, Crowley snuggles against him. ‘The truth is the truth, angel.’

Still blushing and at a loss for words, Aziraphale begins to descend at last, landing on a deserted dirt road that cut across miles of open fields. He carefully puts Crowley down, but the Demon doesn’t draw away, leaving her arms around Aziraphale’s neck.

‘All done saving me, then?’

‘Don’t make fun of me.’

‘I’m really not,’ Crowley says. Tucking a stray curl of hair behind her ear, she gives Aziraphale a sultry look. ‘How shall I thank my rescuer?’

‘Oh, er,’ Aziraphale looks at her earnestly, ‘it would probably cause a stir in head office if they found out an entire village saw an Angel. I mean, that hasn’t been done since the time of the prophets…’ Trailing off, he looks at her meaningfully with hopeful eyes.

Crowley almost smacks her forehead, torn between amusement and exasperation. ‘Not exactly what I meant, but sure thing. My treat.’ She snaps her fingers. ‘There, they’ve all forgot about this morning.’

‘Oh, _thank you_ ,’ sighs Aziraphale, looking relieved.

‘I was trying to thank _you_ ,’ she mutters.

‘How do you mean?’

Crowley presses up against Aziraphale, grinning when the Angel widens his eyes but places his hands on her waist. With a hum, she drags her palm down over Aziraphale’s chest and stomach to rest on his breeches.

‘Oh, I can think of a few ways.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took what should’ve been kinky and made it ridiculous instead oops?
> 
> At some point I'mma figure out how to keep these short. Rn it's a stretch to call them 'ficlets' even >.<
> 
> Come talk to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	4. (Lapdance/Striptease) - 'just a unicorn'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **4\. Lapdance/Striptease** \- The first time Aziraphale does it, Crowley walks into a bookshelf.

The first time Aziraphale does it, Crowley walks into a bookshelf.

Now, to be fair, Aziraphale has no idea what _it_ is. But when he turns around from where he is about to re-shelve his Byron collection, to find Crowley gaping at him slack-jawed, Aziraphale gathers it is something to do with him.

‘Are you all right? What happened?’

His only response is the ever eloquent, ‘Ngk’.

Aziraphale has been the recipient of numerous _ngk_ s over the course of their six-thousand-year friendship, and as such, is endowed with the ability to parse all of their different meanings, contexts and nuances.

This particular _ngk_ , however, is a new one.

Crowley straightens his lopsided glasses with more aggression than warranted, and without further hazards or words, continues towards the kitchen to fetch that cup of tea Aziraphale had sweetly asked for.

Aziraphale looks back at the bookshelf. It appears to be fine. He shrugs and puts the matter out of his mind.

Until he does it again a few days later, and Crowley spills wine all down his front.

At the sound of fairly blasphemous blessing, Aziraphale puts down the duster he has just picked up and wanders over to the Demon, who has been idly day drinking on his sofa.

‘My dear, what on earth - you’re hardly ever this clumsy.’

Sputtering, Crowley carelessly wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. Without meeting Aziraphale’s eyes, he high tails it out of the shop, muttering something about napping for a week.

Aziraphale blinks after him. ‘How odd.’

But there doesn’t seem to be any real danger, and it’s not unusual for Crowley to sleep for days at a time. So Aziraphale returns to his own earthly delights and comforts, content to eagerly await Crowley’s return.

And return Crowley does, exactly eight days later, when Aziraphale is in his kitchen, getting ready to take out his baking utensils because he’s developed quite the aptitude for it.

‘Oh, there you are, dear boy, I hope you’re refreshed and hungry after your nap,’ says Aziraphale cheerfully when Crowley appears in the doorway. He begins to roll up his right sleeve. ‘I’m just about to whip up some devil’s food -’

Three things happen in quick succession, and all of them involve Crowley.

He says, ‘Ngk.’

He stubs the front of his shoe on the threshold and trips.

He catches himself, glares at Aziraphale, and growls, ‘You’re doing that on purpose.’

Aziraphale, with a look of bewilderment, resumes rolling up his sleeve. ‘What are you talking about?’ he says, now truly concerned over Crowley’s behaviour.

‘You know what,’ snaps Crowley, stomping inside. ‘You do that around me all the time now.’

‘I do _what_ around you -?’

‘Putting on a fucking striptease!’ Crowley bursts out.

Stilling, Aziraphale slowly looks down. He is dressed perfectly modestly in his trousers, shirt and waistcoat. His comfortable indoor jacket he has taken off because it won’t do to get dough on it, and he has his sleeves rolled up because he prefers to bake without miracles -

 _Oh_.

Abruptly, Aziraphale recalls the previous incidents; when he had shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves to re-shelve his books, and then again later to dust off some of his precious first editions…

He looks up at Crowley, eyes wide, to find the Demon is now right in front of him, his golden eyes bared and trained unblinkingly on Aziraphale’s forearms.

There is absolutely nothing inappropriate about the state of his dress, but in that moment, under Crowley’s intense appraisal, Aziraphale feels positively debauched.

‘C-Crowley, it … it’s just a sleeve.’

Crowley raises an eyebrow. ‘Yeah. And it was _just_ a unicorn.’

‘That is an unfair comparison. That unicorn had unparalleled repercussions,’ Aziraphale says carefully. He folds his arms and immediately realises what a mistake he’s made.

Aziraphale can practically see Crowley’s slitted pupils dilate, his gaze darkening as it slides from Aziraphale’s arms to his face.

‘Angel,’ Crowley says in a drawl that makes something in Aziraphale’s chest flip. ‘You have no idea, do you?’

‘…No idea of what?’

Crowley looks him right in the eye. ‘What you do to me.’

There is a long moment of silence in which they stare at each other, Aziraphale’s heart beating faster with every passing second.

He considers the past few days, the past few minutes, and what it all has led to.

He considers the past six thousand years.

There is only one appropriate response.

Without breaking eye contact, Aziraphale reaches up a scandalously bare arm to undo his bowtie.

There is a sharp intake of breath, and Aziraphale watches Crowley’s jaw slacken, in that way it had the day he walked into the bookshelf.

Swallowing, Aziraphale slips the strip of tartan cloth free from his neck and lets it fall. It vanishes before it hits the floor though, and a shimmer of magic to his right brings Aziraphale’s attention to his tie now lying, carefully folded, on the kitchen counter.

It’s not his miracle. Aziraphale feels something warm and glowing in his chest as he smiles at Crowley, the absolute _dear_.

He ought to say thank you, but there are better alternatives to convey his gratitude. Emboldened, Aziraphale lets his fingers graze down the middle of his shirt to his waistcoat, where they nimbly pop open each burnished button with a metallic clink.

At that, Crowley finally speaks, breathing out Aziraphale’s name in a choked voice.

Aziraphale lets his opened waistcoat shrug off his shoulders, and again the garment is whisked away to join his bowtie on the counter.

As he teasingly slides his fingers up to undo the buttons of his shirt this time, he has to lower his gaze for a moment, the devouring hunger in Crowley’s eyes too overwhelming to bear. But he receives little reprieve because now Aziraphale is bearing full witness to _what he does to Crowley_ , as the Demon had so bluntly said.

His mouth goes dry as he takes in the swelling bulge in Crowley’s tight-fitting pants, the sight of it sending jolts of heat through Aziraphale’s own loins.

He undoes the first button of his shirt, and then the next, the next.

‘Angel,’ Crowley rasps, like a man parched for water in a desert and Aziraphale is his oasis. ‘Are you aware of what you’re doing?’

‘To you?’ Aziraphale sneaks a long shameless look at Crowley’s erection, biting his lip. ‘Evidently.’

Crowley half-groans. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know. And I do. But the real question is,’ Aziraphale looks up at Crowley from under his lashes. His fingers snag another button, exposing the swell of his stomach, ‘what are _you_ going to do to _me_?’

‘Fuck,’ Crowley whispers, his eyes widening.

The last button pops free and Aziraphale smiles coyly.

‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ineffable idiots being utterly silly? In _my_ kink ficlets? It’s more likely than you think. (There will be adequate smut, don’t worry ahaha)
> 
> Come talk to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	5. (Edging/Orgasm Control) - savoury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **5\. Edging/Orgasm Control** \- Aziraphale likes to savour things, and now Crowley knows this intimately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note on content** : top!Aziraphale, bottom!Crowley, both male-presenting with penises

Aziraphale likes to savour things.

Crowley knows this, of course. He has been companion to Aziraphale’s exploration of human culinary inventions for nearly as long as mankind has existed.

Aziraphale likes to savour things, and now Crowley knows this _intimately_.

The back of Crowley’s head thumps against the velvet upholstery of his throne, his back arching helplessly as wet heat engulfs him again.

‘Fuck, fuck, angel!’ Crowley gasps, his knuckles white as he grips the armrests, trying to ground himself.

The only response he receives is a complacent _hmm_ , one that only serves to dizzy Crowley further, for the mouth that hummed is presently wrapped around his cock.

Swollen pink lips, gleaming with spit and precum, move back and forth along his hard shaft, kissing sweetly at his tip and then stretching obscenely around him to swallow Crowley down. A slick velvet tongue slides along the bulging nerve on the underside of his cock until that decadent mouth meets his base, soft cheeks hollowing to suck Crowley steadily towards madness.

Breathing raggedly, Crowley looks down at his Angel, as naked as him, kneeling between his legs in front of his throne. Aziraphale’s eyes are closed, his expression one of debauched bliss, as he practically devours Crowley. He can feel every squeeze of Aziraphale’s throat, warm and snug around his prick, as the Angel eagerly swallows around him.

Aziraphale hums again, and the vibration almost makes Crowley buck up deeper into his throat; he is prevented, however, by Aziraphale’s strong hands on his thighs, keeping Crowley firmly seated.

‘Angel,’ Crowley groans, ‘please, I …! I’m so close!’

It’s not the first, or even second or third, time he has said those exact words. Crowley has been _close_ for what feels like hours - maybe days, for all he knows - teetering on a precipice he is desperate to leap from.

He is there, nearly there -

With a wet slurp, that insatiable mouth around him slides off his cock, catching lightly on his head to give a tantalising suck before releasing him with a _pop_ of a kiss.

A moan of protest escapes Crowley, his hips trying to buck up again, chasing the source of his endless pleasure.

But Aziraphale, like the last several times - how many times has it been? - he’s brought Crowley to the brink of orgasm, turns his attention elsewhere.

‘Not yet, darling,’ he whispers, his voice hoarse and his dark gaze heated. ‘I’m not done tasting you.’

With those words, Crowley legs are hitched up over Aziraphale’s broad shoulders, angling his hips up so that his arse is nearly off the padded seat. Then Aziraphale’s hands are parting his cheeks to press that sweet, sinful tongue to Crowley’s hole.

Crowley whimpers as the sinuous muscle flutters over his rim, which has already been licked and slicked and abused open - for this act is what Aziraphale has been switching to, for who knows how long, as soon as Crowley is about to shoot off in his mouth.

Looking up at the wrecked Demon from under his eyelashes, Aziraphale slides his tongue into him, easily bottoming out from how loose Crowley is by now. Without breaking eye contact, Aziraphale begins to suck gently on his rim, still swirling his tongue languidly inside.

‘You’re illegal, you know that?’ Crowley’s voice sounds like sandpaper, cracking with lust and frustration.

Aziraphale makes an inquisitive noise, looking up at Crowley innocently as he fucks his tongue into his arse - an oxymoron if there ever was one.

‘No Angel was meant to look like this, between a Demon’s legs.’ Crowley slides his hand through Aziraphale’s cloud-soft hair, twining the curls around his fingers. ‘But I’m fucking glad you do, and between mine.’

With a moan, Aziraphale licks into him again and pulls off. Giving Crowley a little smile, shy almost, he moves his mouth to the Demon’s prick once more.

Crowley blesses under his breath, his plateauing arousal peaking again as Aziraphale bobs his head, bringing Crowley almost immediately to the edge.

This time, however, instead of merely sucking his cock, Aziraphale cups a hand over Crowley’s balls, squeezing carefully, before travelling lower to trace his perineum to his entrance. Crowley inhales sharply, his grip tightening on Aziraphale’s hair as two fingers press into him, scissoring to caress along his walls.

‘Fucking heaven, yesss,’ Crowley hisses, dropping his head back again and eyes fluttering shut at the dual sensations.

The heat of Aziraphale’s mouth around him combined with his fingers fucking Crowley open are almost too much. As Aziraphale’s searching digits find his prostate, making Crowley cry out desperately, he is certain that his Angel is ready to finally make him come.

Crowley almost sobs when the fingers slip out of him and that mouth releases his cock, leaving him feeling bereft in every way.

‘Blessed stars, angel, _please_ ,’ Crowley is begging now, his whole body trembling as he gulps in shaky breaths, unsure how much more he can take.

‘You just taste so good, darling,’ sighs Aziraphale, dropping a kiss on Crowley’s thigh. ‘I really can’t help myself. And you’ve been so good for me, holding back this long.’

Crowley looks blearily at him, barely left with the capacity for words.

‘You’ll come for me, love, but not before me. You’ll let me finish first, won’t you?’ Aziraphale smiles sweetly at him, and it appears all the more filthy for the spunk glistening at the corners of his mouth.

‘Fuck yeah, yeah,’ Crowley says raggedly. He’ll agree to anything at this point.

‘Lovely,’ Aziraphale whispers and rises to his feet. He holds a hand out to Crowley.

The Demon is pulled up, and without further ado, he is spun around to face his throne, his hands atop the backrest for support and his right foot planted on the padded seat, with Aziraphale’s arm under his thigh.

The Angel presses up against his back, his moist lips grazing kisses on the nape of Crowley’s neck. The blunt head of his cock, lubed and leaking, nudges against Crowley’s hole and he almost collapses with relief, leaning heavily on the throne.

‘Oh yes, yes, yesss,’ Crowley moans as Aziraphale enters him, the stretch of his slicked arse around that thick cock at once both overwhelming and satisfying.

‘You’ve waited a long time,’ Aziraphale murmurs into Crowley’s neck as he pulls out before sliding all the way inside. ‘Just a little bit more, love.’

‘Anything you want,’ Crowley pants.

Wrapping his free arm around Crowley’s torso, Aziraphale tucks his face into Crowley’s neck and begins to thrust. His movements are slow and careful for a minute, allowing Crowley to adjust, but at the Demon’s increasingly impatient noises, Aziraphale snaps his hips, driving harder into Crowley.

Crowley hangs his head, holding on tight to his throne as he is thoroughly, but so lovingly, fucked. Aziraphale’s hold around him is strong and secure, and he is breathing sweet nothings into Crowley’s neck, his voice low and intimate.

He is too far gone to make out the words, but they warm him to the core, his heart fluttering inside his chest from Aziraphale’s affection as much as the passionate pounding given to his body.

Aziraphale’s voice starts to break, cracked moans of Crowley’s name torn from his lips as his thrusts grow erratic. The repeated drag of his cock inside Crowley sends heat flaring through him, making his own prick, untouched and aching, throb with swelling pleasure.

The Angel presses harder into him, his hips slapping frantically against Crowley’s arse. His cock brushes against Crowley’s sweet spot a few times, electrifying him from the inside but not enough to climax; it’s just out of reach.

Crowley huffs, arousal warring with thwarted satisfaction. If Aziraphale wanted to, he could hit Crowley’s prostate on every thrust, making him come within seconds. But Aziraphale is chasing his own release, deliberately leaving Crowley hanging.

He doesn’t take his cock in hand, though it’d be the easiest thing right now. This whole affair is about Aziraphale, really, not him. Crowley will wait as long as his Angel needs him to.

‘Oh, darling,’ Aziraphale whimpers into Crowley’s neck, now clinging to the Demon as his hips fall out of rhythm.

‘Yeah, angel, c’mon,’ Crowley grunts, freeing a hand to grasp Aziraphale’s resting on his stomach.

With a couple more thrusts, Aziraphale cries out Crowley’s name and releases inside him. His cock pulses in Crowley, filling him with familiar wetness, and he shudders at the feeling as Aziraphale rests against him for a few seconds, catching his breath.

He whines with need when the Angel pulls out, feeling empty and aching and desperate beyond belief. But then he is spun around again and pushed back onto his throne.

The pain of his sore arse meeting the chair is immediately overshadowed by Aziraphale’s mouth descending on Crowley’s cock once more. Without preamble, the Angel swallows him down to the hilt, sucking deep and searing, and this time, he doesn’t stop until Crowley’s orgasm, which has been hovering just on the edge for what feels like an eternity, finally peaks.

His head hits the backrest as Crowley yells out his relief, every muscle in his body tensing and pulled taut as his cock spurts into Aziraphale’s mouth.

He comes and he comes, and Crowley cannot, for the existence of him, say how long it goes on for; but then, at long last, the tension seems to rush out of every cell in his body. Crowley sags into his throne, utterly boneless and mindless.

Dazed, his eyes find Aziraphale, knelt between his legs and still on his cock. It’s growing sensitive, but Crowley doesn’t push him off, letting Aziraphale suck softly on him for a few more seconds before he pulls back.

Crowley’s prick is wet but otherwise clean, and as Aziraphale licks his lips, he realises the Angel has swallowed his whole load.

Raising an eyebrow, Crowley shoots him a lazy grin. ‘Fucking heaven, angel.’

Aziraphale looks up with a satisfied smile, his cheeks flushed. ‘That was wonderful. You were wonderful.’

‘Should be saying that to you,’ Crowley says, still a little breathless.

‘I now understand why you enjoy doing this to me so often,’ says Aziraphale, leaning his cheek against Crowley’s thigh. ‘It feels positively heady, doesn’t it?’

Crowley chuckles, running his hand through Aziraphale’s hair fondly. ‘I take it this whole thing is to your taste, then?’

‘Oh darling,’ Aziraphale sighs, pulling himself up to straddle Crowley on his throne. ‘I savoured every drop.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the silliness of the last two ficlets, you guys deserve some super shameless smut <3
> 
> Had a really bad day at work so this one might not be of my best calibre. I didn’t think my first time writing top!Aziraphale (not counting previous switch fics) would be rage-fuelled :( At least I managed to not write angry sex heh
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts! You can also find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	6. (Strangers Roleplay) - pretty little dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **6\. Strangers Roleplay** \- ‘So, you’re the pretty little thing that ruined my temptation.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note on content:** top!Crowley, bottom!Aziraphale, both male-presenting with penises
> 
>  **Warning:** Consensual dubious consent in the form of roleplay (check End Notes for a spoilery c/w if you want to be more prepared)

‘So, you’re the pretty little thing that ruined my temptation.’

The voice, low and smooth, is startling in the silence of the prison cell - and that in itself sits oddly with Aziraphale, for weren’t there cheers from the bloodthirsty crowd outside the Bastille just seconds ago?

He whirls around on his stool, the heavy manacles on his wrists rattling loudly on the stone floor.

A strange man is standing just inside the bars of his cell, slouched against the brick wall. Tall and slim, he is clad in the fashion of the day; though unlike Aziraphale, his are the likes of the revolutionaries’ clothes, a long burgundy jacket worn over a simple black waistcoat and tight breeches.

The tinted glasses hiding his eyes, however, are jarringly unconventional, as is his hairdo. A mane of long auburn waves is casually tied at the nape of his neck and allowed to flow down one shoulder, a few loose curls framing his angular face.

The light from the single window throws his high cheekbones into sharp relief. Discreetly, Aziraphale closes his legs together.

‘You’re neither a guard nor an executioner,’ he says warily.

Thin mischievous-looking lips quirk up in a smirk. ‘Observant of you, well done.’

‘How did you get through those locked doors?’ Aziraphale stiffens in alarm.

‘ _Very_ observant,’ chuckles the stranger, drawing away from the wall to saunter over to Aziraphale. His steps are measured but exuding a sense of careless nonchalance that sets the Angel further on edge.

Stopping just a couple of feet in front of Aziraphale, the man angles his head down, sliding his glasses down the bridge of his pointed nose. ‘But not observant enough.’

Aziraphale knows his mistake at the same time he realises why the prison cell is silent - too late.

‘You stopped time,’ he says weakly, his heartbeat picking up under the man - _Demon’s_ \- infernal stare.

He can’t help but stare back, getting helplessly lost in that alluring gaze for a moment, before he remembers himself and rapidly blinks.

There is a flash of amusement on the Demon’s face, so quick it is nearly undetectable.

Then his expression cools again, and plucking the glasses off, he shrugs. ‘Wanted to see who thwarted my final temptation for this year. I was so bloody _close_. Could’ve taken months off from reporting back to head office with that deal done.’ His flaming gaze bores into Aziraphale. ‘If it weren’t for one silly little dove.’

The last word, spoken like an endearment almost, sends a flash of heat through Aziraphale.

‘I do not know what you refer to,’ Aziraphale says, unhappy with the incriminating tremor in his voice. ‘I had not met you until mere minutes ago -’

‘Did you enjoy the crepes?’ the Demon interrupts. ‘You got to sample one bite before those mindless fools set upon you, hmm?’

Aziraphale’s eyes widen, thinking quickly. ‘I did not notice you at the crêperie.’

‘Notice a Demon seducing the owner in the back, with a plate of nibbles in front of you?’ he snickers derisively.

Aziraphale parses this information. ‘I … I take it that you were, ehm, interrupted then? In your … assigned seduction?’ He squirms on his stool, ignoring the sudden tightening of his breeches.

The Demon’s face sours. ‘Fucking rebels nearly tore the place apart to arrest you.’ His eyes rove judgementally over Aziraphale’s fine clothes. ‘I daresay the owner found sufficient reason to be distracted from a good fuck, wouldn’t you?’ He huffs. ‘A few more minutes and I’d have bagged his soul.’

‘And now you’re here to exact your vengeance?’ Aziraphale hazards, clenching his fists to hide how affected he is. ‘What do you intend - to discorporate me?’

‘Now why would I do that,’ drawls the Demon, slowly beginning to circle Aziraphale sat on his stool, ‘when the guillotine will accomplish that soon enough?’

The mention of it makes Aziraphale wince.

‘Which leads me to wonder, why are you still here?’ The Demon comes to a stop in front of him again. ‘Even little doves can miracle themselves out.’

‘I … I don’t owe you that explanation,’ says Aziraphale, setting his jaw.

‘So there _is_ a reason you haven’t used your powers?’ The Demon surmises at once, crocking an eyebrow. ‘Heaven’s orders, perhaps?’

When Aziraphale blinks but doesn’t respond, his handsome face splits in a wicked grin. ‘Oh, how deliciousss,’ he hisses. ‘An Angel with clipped wings, chained up and completely at my mercy. It must be my birthday.’

‘We don’t have birthdays,’ says Aziraphale automatically, as though the Demon’s words didn’t just send thrilling chills through him.

A startled laugh escapes the stranger, his face softening with something like fondness. It lingers for a couple of seconds before the wicked twist returns to his mouth.

‘Oh, little dove.’ A long finger tilts his chin up; their first touch and it’s near scalding on Aziraphale’s skin. ‘Is that what you should be worrying about now?’

Aziraphale swallows, unable to look away. The glint of sunlight in the Demon’s eyes makes them shine honey-gold. The tightness in his loins noticeably increases.

‘I’m one seduction away from reaching my quota,’ he murmurs, leaning down so that his breath washes hotly over Aziraphale’s lips. ‘You compromised my assignment. It would be fair then, wouldn’t it, for you to compensate me? Ravishing an Angel will surely win me a few bonuses.’

‘You are mistaken if you think my wings are so clipped to stop me from smiting you should you attempt any such thing. Frivolous miracles may be disallowed me, but a smiting is always the exception.’

For all of five seconds, Aziraphale feels smug at the Demon’s darkening expression. It’s satisfying to have the upper-hand. But then his current predicament returns to focus when the Demon drops his chin.

‘Why go to all that trouble when I can join the crowds outside and watch the blade exact my revenge for me?’ Spinning on his heel, the Demon heads to the barred doors. ‘See you on the outside, dove. My face will be the last thing you see.’

Aziraphale’s mind whirls, swiftly calculating his options. He is not allowed to miracle himself free, having been so chastised only recently, but the consequences of discorporation are just as, if not more, distasteful.

‘Wait,’ he stammers just as the Demon raises a hand to snap his fingers. ‘Perhaps,’ he begins tentatively when the Demon turns back, ‘we could come to, ah, an arrangement?’

For two seconds, the stranger looks as if he might start wheezing, the corners of his lips twitching uncontrollably. Clearing his throat, he lopes back to Aziraphale.

‘You think you’re in any position to negotiate an _arrangement_ with me?’

‘I cannot afford to be discorporated,’ Aziraphale says, ignoring the snidely delivered words. ‘But seeing as I am currently indisposed to escape my, ah, situation, and there is no one besides you who can free me from these bonds -’

‘Why should I?’ The Demon interrupts. ‘The event of your discorporation serves as your inconvenience and my pleasure.’

‘I -’ Aziraphale swallows. ‘I can serve you better.’

There is a moment of silence, the stillness brought about by the caged Time heady and cloying.

‘I’m listening.’ The Demon raises a brow.

‘I can … compensate you. For the … for your ruined seduction. As you said.’

A slow smirk is stitching across the Demon’s lips.

‘You can report the - the …’ Aziraphale licks his lips, ‘… _seduction_ of an Angel and get your bonuses.’

‘You make a tempting offer,’ drawls the Demon. ‘State your terms.’

‘Only the condition that you set me free and help me escape afterwards. No discorporation. No smiting.’

The silence returns and Aziraphale waits with bated breath as the Demon contemplates.

When he acts, he does so without warning. With an abruptness that makes Aziraphale yelp, the legs of his stool elongate, so that he is sat on a level with the Demon’s face.

Feet dangling off the floor and suddenly feeling completely vulnerable, Aziraphale stares as the Demon steps up close, his mouth curving in a salacious grin.

‘Deal.’

A hand grabs the back of Aziraphale’s head and he is yanked into a forceful kiss. His knees are nudged aside and the Demon settles between his spread thighs, crushing Aziraphale against him.

Helpless sounds escape Aziraphale, muffled into the kiss as the Demon pries his lips open to slide a tongue, hot and slick and _too much_ of it, inside Aziraphale’s mouth. He is overwhelmed, feeling utterly consumed as the Demon introduces teeth into the mix, biting down on Aziraphale’s lower lip until he moans with the pleasure-pain of it.

So distracted is he that it takes him a moment to take note of the Demon’s sudden miracle. The rush of cold air on his skin, _all_ of his skin, jolts him to his senses and Aziraphale breaks away, eyes widening.

‘You -!’

‘Such a pretty thing you are,’ the Demon says, breathing raggedly as his slitted eyes, heated and coveting, takes in the Angel.

He is completely nude, Aziraphale realises, blood rushing to his face. All except for -

The Demon grips the lace cravat around Aziraphale’s neck, pulling lightly until their lips meet again. ‘Let’s leave this on,’ he says hoarsely. ‘Makes for a lovely collar on you, dove.’

Aziraphale bites his lip to stifle the whimper that threatens to betray him. He is unsuccessful and the Demon grins sharply at him.

‘Oh, look at you,’ he croons, devoting his hands to Aziraphale’s body, palming along his shoulders and down his chest to thumb at his pebbled nipples. ‘You’re just aching to be taken, aren’t you? Be put in your place.’

‘No, I -!’ Aziraphale gasps, his chest heaving as the sensitive nubs are rolled between warm, slender fingers.

‘No? Your body appears to be telling a different story.’

His nipples are relinquished only for a hand to wrap tight around Aziraphale’s cock, which, now freed from the confines of his breeches, has been at attention for too long. A sharp cry falls from his lips as the Demon moves his hand, painfully dry, over his aching shaft. A thumb swipes over his head and weeping slit on the upstroke, and Aziraphale moans as his precum is swiftly and efficiently slathered over him.

The stool suddenly feels too small and Aziraphale clutches at the Demon’s jacket with his manacled hands, leaning heavily on his front. The touch on his cock is torture, and he shudders at the unforgiving grip working him over and over.

The arousal that has been taking root deep within him since the moment he saw the Demon’s handsome face is rapidly approaching its peak. Aziraphale gives a drawn-out moan that devolves into a strangled cry when the hand on him suddenly grips the base of his cock, squeezing to keep his pleasure at bay.

With a dark chuckle, the Demon wraps an arm around Aziraphale’s waist, heaving him forward so that only the edge of his arse is resting on the stool. The angle makes him lean back, and Aziraphale clings harder to the Demon’s jacket, his legs wrapping around his hips for support.

‘Oh, you’re perfect,’ breathes the Demon, and his tone is unexpectedly warm before the lust returns.

‘You were made for this, weren’t you.’ His free hand slides over Aziraphale’s flank and thigh to dip between his legs, skimming over his taut balls before pressing lower. ‘Made to be kissed and pleasured and fucked.’ Slick fingers find Aziraphale’s hole, and he whimpers and presses his face into the Demon’s neck as they begin to tease at the furled muscle.

‘Made to be mine.’

With a low growl, the Demon pulls Aziraphale closer to bite down on his exposed neck, sucking angry bruises on his skin while he relentlessly works him open.

Aziraphale pants against the Demon, helpless to do anything else. His position on the stool is uncomfortable and awkward, but the stranger’s arm around him keeps him in place, and the plunge of those fingers inside his arse leaves little room for any other thoughts.

The Demon’s long fingers reach deep, stroking and massaging along his walls to evoke sensations that no one else has given Aziraphale. He shudders as those clever fingers slip out only to fuck back inside him, over and over, until they brush against something that makes fireworks explode behind his eyes.

‘Oh God,’ Aziraphale sobs, shaking under the assault.

There is a bark of laughter. ‘Blaspheming while being fucked? Oh, now I understand why.’

‘Why what?’ gasps the Angel.

Meeting Aziraphale’s dazed eyes, the Demon gives a crooked grin. There is a whiff of an occult miracle, and something blunt, slick and _big_ presses against Aziraphale’s entrance.

‘Why you’d rather take a Demon’s cock over a few decades of paperwork.’

A near-scream is torn from Aziraphale’s throat as the Demon pushes inside him, moving without stopping until the Angel is completely impaled. Senses overloaded with the feeling of being stuffed full, it takes a moment for Aziraphale to register the lack of pain, his body having yielded easily to the thick cock now claiming him while the residue of another miracle disperses in the air.

‘Heavens blessed, you’re tight,’ groans the Demon, now holding Aziraphale with both arms as he rocks his hips.

Shuddering under the assault, Aziraphale releases the Demon’s jacket to place his arms around his neck, without a care for the manacles draping over the Demon’s shoulder. Giving himself up to be supported, Aziraphale lets his head drop back, mouth open on a litany of broken moans and cries as he is fucked.

The Demon’s hips drive into Aziraphale hard and edging on brutal, but his hold around him is nearly gentle, cradling Aziraphale close. Warm lips find his throat and his collarbones, leaving biting kisses in their wake to trail up Aziraphale’s throat.

His mouth is captured in a bruising kiss, teeth biting at his lips only for a tongue to follow, soothing the abuse. Aziraphale welcomes it, moaning into the Demon’s mouth as he tries to cant his hips, trying to meet the forceful thrusts. His precarious perch on the stool doesn’t allow him much movement, but his attempts draw the Demon’s attention nevertheless.

‘Oh fuck, yeah,’ he grunts, pulling away to observe Aziraphale’s face. ‘You should see yourself. You’re taking me so well. So tight and perfect.’

Pressing in closer, the Demon adjusts the angle of his hips just so, and Aziraphale nearly wails as his prick plunges inside him, striking the spot the Demon’s fingers found before. White-hot pleasure courses through him, stunning and heart-stopping, and then it happens again and again as the Demon fucks harder into him, landing every thrust on that spot.

‘Oh God, oh God -’ Aziraphale begins to babble, the hot rush of blood in his ears drowning out everything else.

A hand grabs his hair, forcing Aziraphale to look up.

‘That’s it, dove,’ he breathes, his silken voice temptation incarnate. ‘Seal our deal.’

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale screams, his vision going white with the force of his orgasm as he finally comes. He shakes apart with it, writhing in the arms holding him close as that thick, gorgeous cock continues to drive into him, fucking Aziraphale through every wave of pleasure that drags him under.

He’s just come to his senses when all movements cease with a strangled shout, and he feels the shoot of hot liquid deep inside him, marking him; claiming him.

Panting, Aziraphale opens his eyes to be met with warm, golden ones smiling down at him.

‘I don’t recall telling you my name,’ says the owner of those eyes with fond amusement.

There is a moment, an impasse, in which an unspoken transition takes effect. Then Aziraphale breaks into a soft giggle, and his voice is joined by another as a face is tucked into his neck, hot breath washing over his flushed skin.

‘Oh, Crowley,’ Aziraphale sighs, the picture of debauched satisfaction as the Demon pulls back with an easy grin.

He is gently helped off the stool, and promptly taken into Crowley’s arms when his knees threaten to give out from under him. With a happy hum, Aziraphale leans into him, content to be held as the manacles fall away from his wrists.

‘So …?’

Tilting his face up, Aziraphale gives a blissed out smile. ‘So, that was lovely.’

Crowley grins, hugging Aziraphale’s naked body to his still clothed one as he waves a hand around him. Swiftly, the illusion of the Bastille cell fades away, reality returning in the form of Crowley’s pristine bedroom. With a snap of his fingers, the stool and their clothes - Aziraphale’s from the floor, Crowley’s from his body - vanish back into the ether.

Aziraphale sighs, snuggling closer to his lover. ‘It’s a pity we don’t have our real clothes from back then. I imagine that would’ve made this even more exciting.’

With a snort, Crowley leads Aziraphale to his bed, pressing him down gently into the sheets as he miracles the come and sweat off the Angel’s body.

‘Think having real clothes would’ve got you to stay in character more?’

Aziraphale blinks, looking affronted. ‘I played my part perfectly!’

‘Angel,’ Crowley drawls, pressing up against Aziraphale to take him into his arms, ‘you started popping a boner from the moment you saw me. Pretty sure _turned on_ is the last thing an actual captive would feel right then.’

‘Well, this wasn’t an _actual_ scene,’ Aziraphale returns snippily. ‘Besides, you looked so very handsome in those clothes.’

At that, a fetching blush creeps up Crowley’s neck. ‘Except my hair,’ he says, steamrollering past the compliment. ‘I didn’t wear my hair like _this_ back then.’ He gestures at his long curling locks tied back at his nape.

‘No, your actual hair back then was atrocious. I wouldn’t tolerate it. I have -’

‘Standards?’ Crowley smirks. ‘Yeah, even your fantasies are high maintenance.’

Aziraphale huffs. ‘You nearly broke character a number of times too.’

‘Well, it all worked out in the end, hmm?’ Crowley nuzzles Aziraphale’s hair, and the Angel melts further into his embrace. A thought occurs and he says, ‘It did, didn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘Work out, I mean. The way you wanted it to? It sounded like a very specific sexual fantasy when you first described it to me -’

‘Crowley.’ Aziraphale’s expression is soft and loving. ‘It was perfect. You were perfect.’

‘I didn’t go too hard, did I? I said some things -’

‘Oh hush, my love, I adored it.’ Aziraphale pecks him on the nose, making it twitch. ‘I enjoyed the little backstory you came up with. It was fun to improvise my answers. And I loved … you know…’ Incongruously, he looks suddenly shy. ‘The - that whole build up. The things you said, the, um … the … dirty talk…’

‘Wow, it was really doing it for you, huh?’ Crowley looks a little awed.

‘Very much.’ With a tantalising smile, Aziraphale moves to kiss him.

‘Y’know, we’ve been fucking for less than a year but already your kinks are weirder than mine. And I’m the Demon one!’

‘You like indulging me.’

Crowley rolls his eyes, but he is smiling. ‘For the whole of my existence, dove.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( **C/W:** Aziraphale’s thoughts are fully immersed in the scenario. Hence, although it’s consensual, the roleplay doesn’t become apparent until much later on, and most of the fic plays out like dubcon)
> 
> I just straight up wrote a whole-ass fic for this prompt XD This was somewhat inspired by a delightful fanart, but I lost track of it. 
> 
> HMU on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	7. (Hair Pulling) - shattered boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **7\. Hair Pulling** \- At Crowley's flat after the non-events of Armageddon, Aziraphale lets millennia-long boundaries shatter at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note on content** : Aziraphale and Crowley are both male-presenting with penises.
> 
> The aftermath of Armageddon depicted here is a mix of both book and show; as per the novel, there is no impending face swap because Adam Young promised them protection, and per the series, they took the bus back to London instead of the jeep.

The first time Aziraphale falls asleep is after six thousand years of unbending consciousness.

One might say, however, considering what they endured during the week leading up to Armageddon and the non-event itself, finding sleep is not terribly surprising.

Crowley certainly looks dead on his feet when they exit the Oxford-bound bus that inexplicably found itself making an unprecedented stop in Mayfair, London. Aziraphale, too, is tired, but unlike Crowley whose corporation is habituated to sleeping*, the Angel’s exhaustion manifests itself more as restless energy.

(* Particularly after events that are mentally and emotionally stressful, as a certain century in history attests to.)

It doesn’t dissipate even after they enter Crowley’s flat. Crowley, who has not once let go since the moment Aziraphale boldly took his hand on the bus, pulls the Angel through the impassive greyness of his abode, bypassing kitchen and sitting room, to lead him right into the bedroom.

Aziraphale blinks, both surprised and too weary to express it.

‘I need a shower,’ Crowley mutters, sounding every bit the soot-covered, worn-out, too-human immortal he is. ‘Er, do you?’

The Angel processes the request. His corporation is new and fresh, courtesy of Adam Young. Certainly not in need of a thorough scrubbing.

Aziraphale says so and Crowley gestures vaguely at his bed, turning towards the ensuite bathroom.

‘Make yourself comfortable then. I’ll join you in two shakes.’

That gives Aziraphale pause, his eyes darting between Crowley and the expansive bed with its imposingly black, albeit soft-looking, sheets.

Crowley gives him an unimpressed look. ‘What, you want to sit in an uncomfortable chair all night while I sleep?’ He pauses, brows furrowing in a manner Aziraphale instantly dislikes. ‘Unless you’re more uncomfortable staying here … I was going to make you up a room tomorro -’

‘The bed’s fine,’ Aziraphale hears himself interject. ‘Thank you.’

Something lightens in Crowley’s eyes, a tension Aziraphale had previously not taken note of disappearing with a slump of his shoulders.

‘Pyjamas in the wardrobe.’

As soon as Crowley say so, tucked away in a corner, Aziraphale sees a mahogany wardrobe he’s not sure was there before. Hanging inside is a single garment; a set of pyjamas with a very distinctive tartan pattern.

Warmth floods his chest as the sound of the shower running reaches him.

And that’s how Aziraphale finds himself hanging up his usual set of clothes in the wardrobe, slipping into silken pyjamas that feel like the breath of a cool wind on his skin, and waiting for Crowley with all the nerve-wracking anticipation of a new bride waiting to be deflowered in her marriage bed.

It occurs to him that last thought is silly and old-fashioned as his coat; but Aziraphale’s decorative heart comes alive with nerves anyway when Crowley reappears.

The Demon has discarded his tight jeans and accompanying ensemble for loose satin pyjamas, dark and shiny, that are completely suited to the tastes of his interior decor.

Aziraphale abruptly feels terribly out of place; a soft frumpy Angel in bright tartan, here in the stylish austere home of a Demon that has always been a step in front of him.

Crowley doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. There is not a hint of unwelcome in his gaze, intense and unwavering, as he takes in Aziraphale sitting in his bed and leaning against the headboard on the right*.

(* Aziraphale doesn’t know which side Crowley favours. He took the right on instinct, thinking of Crowley’s unfailing presence at his left shoulder for as long as the world has existed.)

He doesn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale as he comes round and slips under the covers, nonchalantly as you please, like getting in bed together is an everyday occurrence.

Crowley’s auburn hair flares out in a mess on his pillow case, un-styled and soft-looking after his shower. Aziraphale hasn’t seen Crowley’s hair like this in years, ever since he chopped it off and began to coiff it in the style young human males seem to prefer these days.

To Aziraphale’s increasing abashment, Crowley turns to lie on his side, facing the Angel. A whiff of a pleasantly musky smell, from whatever cleansing agent Crowley used in the shower, reaches Aziraphale’s nostrils, adding to his heady restlessness. The mattress is so wide there is more than a foot between them, and yet he is beginning to feel overheated, his senses ever so finely attuned to Crowley.

The lamps in the bedroom dim to the softest of orange hues. Aziraphale swallows.

Their proximity, strictly in terms of physical distance, is not new. Crowley has been in and out of Aziraphale’s personal space since the falling of the first rain.

Aziraphale’s response to Crowley, of both his body and mind, are not new either. The Demon has been plucking at his heartstrings, and at anatomy further down, for longer than Aziraphale has been brave enough to keep track of.

This easy freedom and blasé attitude with which Crowley is reviving their age-old closeness, however, _is_ new. All of this - from their joined hands on the bus to Crowley bodily leading Aziraphale to his bed - done without a care in the world, as if none of it held consequences.

In that moment, Aziraphale recalls Adam Young’s promise to them at the airbase after all had been said and done - and it dawns, real in a way it hadn’t felt until now, that there indeed will not be consequences.

The realisation, this colossal truth with all of its far-reaching implications, hits Aziraphale so hard he almost doesn’t hear Crowley speak.

‘Lie down,’ the Demon is saying. His voice is fatigued but he doesn’t close his eyes, watching Aziraphale. ‘I know sleeping’s not your forte, but just rest for tonight, will ya. We’ll sort shit out tomorrow.’

‘This isn’t new to me,’ says Aziraphale faintly, his chest still constricting at the thoughts in his head. ‘Although I don’t utilise beds for sleeping, I have spent many a winter night reading in bed.’

‘So you’re gonna just sit there till the sun rises? I don’t have books to entertain you.’ Crowley sighs. ‘When was the last time you properly put your head down?’

Aziraphale blinks, splaying his fingers on the black quilt. ‘I don’t recall.’

Crowley pauses. ‘Perhaps the world not ending is a good time to start.’

Before Aziraphale can parse what he means by that, slender fingers settle on top of his left hand; a warm careful touch that has him staring at Crowley with wide eyes.

‘Why?’ Crowley says quietly. ‘You didn’t have any qualms on the bus.’

He doesn’t do anything else, however, simply maintaining a point of contact between them as the seconds tick by in cloying silence. Pinned in place by Crowley’s gaze, Aziraphale senses a slow shift in the air, like a change in the winds hailing an oncoming storm, and right before it happens, he knows things are about to change forever.

‘I thought you were gone.’

The words are spoken on a soft breath, but they strike Aziraphale with all the impact of a smiting.

The hand on top of his tightens, so minutely a being less attuned to Crowley than Aziraphale wouldn’t have detected the change.

To Aziraphale, it makes all the difference.

‘My dear,’ he whispers.

‘You _were_ gone,’ Crowley repeats, his exhaustion nothing to the despair dawning in his glowing eyes. ‘The world ended for me right then.’

The confession lodges in Aziraphale’s heart like an arrow to the chest, delivered with the same bluntness with which Crowley brought Aziraphale into his home, his bed, tonight.

A stinging sensation pricks at Aziraphale’s eyes. He remembers the broken whisper, _I lost my best friend_.

And he remembers, with punishing vividness, the words he grit out through his own teeth. The lies.

‘I’m sorry,’ Aziraphale croaks, his tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. ‘My dear, I …’ Aziraphale turns his hand so that his palm is to Crowley’s, closing their fingers around each other. ‘I was horrid and I said terrible -’

‘You’re here now,’ Crowley interrupts, somehow gentle in doing so. ‘You’re not gone. That’s all that matters.’

Aziraphale breathes in deeply. He respectfully disagrees with that sentiment, but perhaps Crowley is right - tomorrow is for when ‘shit’ is to be sorted. Tonight is for…

He looks at their intertwined hands, signifying the casual shattering of unspoken boundaries set between them for millennia.

Boundaries Aziraphale had set.

Without a word, he moves, deliberately shifting to his left to slip deeper under the covers.

Crowley’s response is delayed by no more than half a beat. As naturally as he got into bed with Aziraphale, he now opens his arms, taking Aziraphale in them so that the Angel is slotted to his body, a perfect fit.

This is where Aziraphale has always belonged, he thinks as the ball of tension within him dissipates into sheer _relief_. He sealed this fate from the second he held his wing over Crowley’s head, a singular action that unbeknownst to him set off irrevocable ripples, writing their enjoined destiny into the fabric of the cosmos.

Ineffable.

Aziraphale rests his head on Crowley’s right arm, which curls under him until Crowley’s fingers sink into his hair. He is pulled flushed against him, Crowley’s other arm snug around his waist, and they lie together face-to-face without speaking for an endless minute, just watching and breathing each other in, drowning in the _rightness_ of it.

Crowley is not an inert creature by any means, not even now. His touch wanders, curious and relentless, the hand around Aziraphale’s waist tracing a steady pilgrimage up and down the length of his spine, while his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair twine around his curls, scratching at his scalp with blunt nails.

Aziraphale sighs, equal measures in relief, pleasure and surprise. Outside of a handful of infrequent times during their shared history, physical touch is not something his body is used to. It’s not something Aziraphale has particularly craved either, save for private moments when he has thought about Crowley, in yearning, in secret, in the dark.

Now, he trembles in the cocoon of Crowley’s embrace, his skin aflame even through the dual layers of their night clothes. The hand on his head cards through his curls over and again, petting Aziraphale’s hair with a sweetness exuding such affection and reverence he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

Soft sighs drop from his lips as Crowley continues to touch him. Crowley’s eyes, now a warm yellow that has spilled over into the whites, absorb Aziraphale’s every response with awe and adoration as the Angel clings closer.

The fingers catch in his hair, tightening in an unexpected pull, and Aziraphale gasps at the spark of fire it unleashes within him.

Crowley looks contrite. ‘Sssorry,’ he whispers. ‘Forgot myssself, won’t happ -’

‘Don’t stop,’ Aziraphale whimpers, shivering. ‘Don’t you dare.’

Crowley’s eyes widen. Slowly, his fingers sink back into Aziraphale’s hair in sweet caresses again before, once more, they gather a loose fistful of blonde curls, tugging until Aziraphale’s head is tilted back, exposing his throat to Crowley.

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale moans, breathing heavily as heat courses through him. The pleasure pools in his nether region until, without so much as a by your leave, an effort springs to life.

Pressed together as they are, it is impossible for Crowley to miss the change. He blinks, once, before a _hiss_ of pure desire whistles through his teeth. He yanks on Aziraphale’s hair, this time with assured confidence, making the Angel moan and then again louder when Crowley latches onto his bared neck, sucking on the heated skin.

Crowley’s hold on his hair is unyielding, keeping Aziraphale in place to be kissed and licked and bit, something the Angel is swiftly discovering, with overwhelming arousal, he _desperately_ likes. Crowley is doing wonderful, sinful things to his neck, the sharp points of his teeth alternating with the velvet drag of his tongue; and paired with the sting at his scalp, Aziraphale finds pleasure in every little detail.

A pleasure that courses through his blood, rushing to fill the effort he has hardly ever bothered with.

Aching to seek relief and quite mindless with it all, Aziraphale gives into instinct. The first roll of his hips against Crowley is involuntary, as is the cry that escapes him at the sensation. But at the sound of Crowley’s deep groan against his neck, filled with lust to match Aziraphale’s own, his second attempt for more contact is deliberate and frantic.

The glide of silk over his cock is pleasing, but lovelier still is Crowley’s pressing back against him, hard and hot. Pulse leaping at this human, visceral evidence that Crowley desires him just as wildly, Aziraphale begins to buck his hips, gasping at the smooth friction.

With one last open-mouthed kiss, Crowley pulls away from his neck to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, his jaw slack and lips wet.

‘Slow down,’ he breathes, ‘else this will end very soon.’

Right then, Aziraphale cannot even fathom stopping. He clings to Crowley, looking at him with wanton need as he rubs up against him.

‘Please, Crowley, I … I want -!’

Uttering a blessed curse under his breath, Crowley slides an arm down over Aziraphale’s arse to grab his thigh, hooking his leg over his hips. The intimate position brings their pelvises together without a chance of straying, wringing another moan from Aziraphale - but then his thoughts scatter when Crowley begins to undulate, rubbing their cocks together in a slow, purposeful rhythm designed to drive Aziraphale out of his senses.

‘Oh, oh, Crowley, I - I can’t -’ Aziraphale pants, tightening his leg around Crowley. Wetness is growing between their crotches, but the mix of precum through the silk and satin serves to only heighten his pleasure as his leaking prick slides over Crowley, back and forth in their endless dance.

The hand in Aziraphale’s hair, which he has almost forgotten about, grips him again, making him whine as his face is tilted up to Crowley’s.

‘Should’ve done this first,’ Crowley says raggedly, eyes locked on Aziraphale’s lips.

Yet, as out of order as their union has been, so is their first kiss. Crowley’s tongue precedes his mouth, grazing over Aziraphale’s parted lips and then sliding inside before their mouths meet, soft and fervent at once.

Aziraphale hums around Crowley’s tongue, shivering under the sensual onslaught as Crowley learns him with a languidness that belies the increasing urgency of their hips. Gripping Aziraphale’s hair, Crowley pulls and pushes, guiding the Angel’s face to whatever position that pleases him, kissing his lips, sucking his tongue and exploring his mouth from every angle. Aziraphale eagerly lets him, every tug on his hair adding to the heat in his crotch.

His cock is beginning to throb and Aziraphale knows he is getting close. He grinds harder on Crowley, muffling his moans into their increasingly sloppy kiss. The fronts of their pyjama bottoms are almost soaked through now, kept warm only by the constant friction between their hips. It brings the shape and feel of Crowley’s cock against his to sharp focus, and Aziraphale feverishly pictures the long, thick hard length of it.

Later, he may have it in his mouth or take it in his hand.

Later, Crowley may deflower him with it.

Aziraphale pants, his heart pounding as he dares to imagine Crowley, his dear beloved, having him, taking him, moving inside him - a fantasy he has entertained for millennia, and it is now one literally in his reach.

Crowley’s hips stutter against him, and without warning, the fingers in his hair tighten, pulling hard enough to send jolts of pleasure-pain through Aziraphale. With a strangled cry of Crowley’s name, the building knot of heat in his gut unwinds and Aziraphale spills.

The flood of pleasure overtakes his every sense, and all Aziraphale is aware of is Crowley, their pulsing cocks grinding through the waves of bliss.

As he relaxes back into Crowley’s arms, a pair of lips touch briefly against his once more, soft and loving. With a sigh, he opens his eyes and gives a sweet smile when he finds Crowley already looking back at him. He makes no move to untangle their bodies, leaving his leg slung over Crowley’s and their wet sticky hips pressed together, the slightest movement sending oversensitive tingles through him.

Crowley loosens his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair but doesn’t remove his hand, resuming his gentle petting from before. His fatigue hasn’t been quite dispelled, simply taking a backseat to the satisfaction and dawning joy of the present.

Aziraphale returns it in kind, whispering, ‘I’m here. _We’re_ here,’ and tucking his face under Crowley’s chin. Like that they will stay, just holding each other until sleep swiftly claims them, greeting the Demon as an old friend and the Angel as a welcome stranger.

Tomorrow, they will do it all over again, without the clothes this time; leisurely and frantically and contentedly, until Aziraphale is quite thoroughly deflowered. Tomorrow, they will talk, beginning the difficult but rewarding journey to speak the words that have been gathering dust in hearts chained in cages for too long.

But for tonight, it’s enough to just let go and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, like much of the GO fandom, I'm a ho for Crowley's long hair and all the hair pulling kinks that entail - so much that I wrote a [whole fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466341/chapters/46335586) about it. But there is so much fan content about Crowley's hair already that for this prompt, I raise you the above Aziraphale-centric offering
> 
> I know the hair pulling is on the milder side here, but I really wanted to write something soft <3
> 
> Come talk to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	8. (Spanking) - apple bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Day 8: Spanking** \- Crowley is a little slow on the uptake of Aziraphale’s newfound interest. When the penny drops, it goes down like a lead balloon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note on content** : Aziraphale and Crowley are both male-presenting and wearing vulvas, mentions of switching

Aziraphale is naked on Crowley’s lap.

That in and of itself is not a novelty, Crowley having had Aziraphale on his lap in varying states of undress over the course of the past year or so.

Crowley is not naked in the least degree, but that happens often enough as well.

Aziraphale is naked on Crowley’s lap, draped faced down over his knees on the bookshop’s old sofa, with his plump arse in the air, saying breathlessly,

‘Go on then, darling, hit me.’

Well, _that_ is most definitely uncustomary - not to mention, not exactly something Crowley has foreseen joining their list of bedroom activities.

The journey that has culminated in them being in this position hadn’t exactly given Crowley sufficient warning beforehand either.

What triggered all this in the first place is _Crowley_ himself - that is, his tactile nature specifically. Crowley _likes_ touch; the whole of his experience in learning, and subsequently loving, the world was built on touch, nearly as much as his overly keen sense of smell.

He’d examined the plants in the Garden in the Beginning, and then physically tried out every human invention with open curiosity; and when they wanted him to, he’d touched humans as well.

Touch is as much a form of exploration as it is an expression of affection - and it is the singular urge he’d had to rein in for six thousand years around the one he’d most wanted to explore and express affection for.

Aziraphale didn’t know this about Crowley until the world did not end and their newfound freedom led to dramatic confessions, desperate snogging and days-long debauchery in bed.

After that, there has been nothing to stop Crowley from touching Aziraphale to his heart’s content. And from the moment it became clear how much Aziraphale enjoys these attentions, Crowley will be the first to admit that he’s become downright _incorrigible_ \- stealing neck kisses while Aziraphale is preparing his cocoa, distracting Aziraphale from inventory with clingy back hugs, and one memorable occasion when he fingered Aziraphale in a shadowed aisle between two bookshelves while a customer browsed within earshot.

He’s had no qualms about focusing his affections on his favourite part of Aziraphale’s anatomy, either. From their first kiss itself, Crowley likes to fill his hands with Aziraphale’s arse whenever he can. Those perfectly plump _apple-bottoms_ were made for him to grope and pinch - and smack.

Aziraphale had almost leapt out of his skin, eliciting a yelp the likes of which Crowley hadn’t heard from him, the first time he playfully slapped the Angel’s butt on his way past to kip on the bookshop’s sofa.

That was weeks ago, and in hindsight, was the first domino to fall.

The time Crowley _ought_ to have picked up on Aziraphale’s newfound interest was days later, during a particularly passionate round of lovemaking. Lost in the vision of Aziraphale’s plush cheeks jiggling as Crowley fucked him into the bed, he had naturally landed a loud slap on his arse with some choice, filthy endearments. Aziraphale climaxed within seconds, but they’d been getting close anyway and Crowley didn’t think much of it.

But the _next_ time, the penny dropped and it went down like a lead balloon.

Spread out under a sweet Angel that insisted on fucking Crowley far too carefully, he’d grunted something along the lines of, ‘C’mon, you were the Guardian of the fucking Eastern Gate, you can pound me harder than that’, and smacked Aziraphale’s arse with both hands -

And Aziraphale, who’d barely just thrust into Crowley, came at once.

Gaping up at the Angel’s flaming face, Crowley finally began to cotton on.

‘My dear, I .. I think we ought to talk.’

Talk they did, breaching a somewhat awkward topic Crowley had not in the least bit been anticipating, with Aziraphale shyly but determinedly opening up about this new interest he wants to try.

Crowley had almost said no, for a reason he hasn’t told Aziraphale yet - but historically, saying no to Aziraphale has never been Crowley’s strong suit.

And so now here they are, Aziraphale naked on Crowley’s lap, draped face down over his knees with his plump arse in the air, eagerly waiting for Crowley to -

‘Spank me, darling.’

‘Hrgh,’ Crowley gurgles in response.

They have discussed this at length, agreeing that they ought to start with Crowley using only his hands and that he will cease immediately if Aziraphale so much as hinted at a _no_. They’ve agreed to keep things relatively mild for their first time, to get a feel of it and, most importantly, for Aziraphale to gauge how much he actually likes it.

But Crowley hesitates anyway.

Aziraphale is expecting him to _hit_ him. Fucking heaven.

He can think of a thousand _other_ things he can do right now to make Aziraphale feel good, not least of which is burying his face between those lovely cheeks to eat out the plump pussy Aziraphale has picked out for tonight. Or his arsehole. Or both.

Neither would involve hitting him.

‘Angel,’ Crowley says softly, placing his palms gently on Aziraphale’s skin; one on the small of his back, the other on the meat of an awaiting buttock. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely,’ says the Angel breathlessly. ‘Please, Crowley.’

‘What if you hate it?’ He bites his lip at the thought of Aziraphale hating something done to him by Crowley’s hand - even if it is a thing Aziraphale himself is demanding.

‘Then we stop and get on with something we love. But I doubt I’ll hate it…’ Aziraphale’s smile is evident in his voice.

Crowley takes in a breath, letting the hand on Aziraphale’s arse slide over the curve of one cheek. ‘All right. But if you change your mind -’

‘I promise I’ll let you know at once. Now,’ Aziraphale wiggles in his lap in a way that normally _would_ make Crowley want to smack his arse, but in a wildly different context. ’If you would be so kind.’

_Kind_ seems a word far from apt, Crowley thinks to himself as he raises his left hand, and with another breath, lets it swing down.

The first strike lands squarely on the centre of Aziraphale’s buttocks, making contact with both cheeks. The generous flesh shakes and Crowley realises, with immediate worry, that his palm is directly over Aziraphale’s hole.

His anxiety is swiftly soothed by the sound of pure pleasure Aziraphale makes, a soft gasp of a thing Crowley has, until now, associated solely with moments when he has his prick buried in the Angel.

Widening his eyes, Crowley takes in the sight of Aziraphale digging his fingers into the sofa, quivering already from a single spank.

_Right-o_.

Caressing Aziraphale’s lower back with his free hand, Crowley strikes him again with a notch more confidence this time, aiming for the apple of one cheek. Aziraphale’s reaction is the same and Crowley, at once, provides the same treatment for the other buttock.

‘Ohh!’ Aziraphale breathes sharply, squirming again.

‘Was that all right?’

‘Yes, but -’

_Shit_. Here it is. Crowley has hurt him and Aziraphale hates it.

‘My dear, you were the Serpent of Eden, I’m certain you can pound me harder than that.’

It takes a few seconds for Crowley to process what Aziraphale has just done. He blesses under his breath.

‘You,’ he growls, punctuating each word with a resounding slap to the Angel’s bouncing bottom, ‘are a fucking bastard.’

‘ _Mmm_ yes,’ Aziraphale moans, rocking a little with every strike. ‘Like that, darling - _ahh_!’

At the clear demand, Crowley doubles down on his task, beginning to deliver a series of loud, stinging slaps to Aziraphale’s arse. Under the barrage, he watches the imprints of his hand blossom, standing out angrily on the white flesh.

Aziraphale is moaning and squealing on every impact, still begging for _more_ , ordering Crowley to go _harder_ , and he obeys. His hand covers every inch of Aziraphale’s generous backside, hitting with more and more force until eventually, all of the pale skin is glowing red.

So is the palm of Crowley’s left hand, his skin nearly as heated as Aziraphale’s by now. He doesn’t relent, keeping up a steady assault that slowly makes it way down until Crowley is striking Aziraphale over the creases where buttocks meet thighs.

He doesn’t think it possible, but Aziraphale’s cries grow louder and more pleasure-filled than ever. Mouth dry, Crowley makes sure to spank the tops of his thighs, which seem to be sensitive, before slapping him squarely on the middle of his bottom again.

As the meat jiggles, Crowley gets glimpses now and then of Aziraphale’s cunt. If there had been any ambiguity left of Aziraphale’s enjoyment, it would’ve been dispelled by the tantalising sight of his pink lips, puffy and glistening with increasing wetness oozing out of his slit.

Crowley swallows around a lump in his throat. Unknown to Aziraphale, Crowley is wearing a cunt tonight as well. He hasn’t been expecting to be aroused, but seeing Aziraphale so genuinely turned on by all this is affecting him as well. He can feel the heat pooling in his gut, translating to a distinct wetness between his legs that is, doubtless, ruining his jeans because Crowley has forgone knickers.

Carefully, he slides his fingers between Aziraphale’s cheeks, seeking out his wet folds.

‘Crowley!’ The way Aziraphale moans his name is positively lewd as Crowley parts his labia, swiping his fingers through a frankly gratifying amount of slick to tease from his entrance to his clit, and back again. The Angel undulates in his lap, rocking into Crowley’s hand eagerly.

Crowley pulls away to smack his wet hand on Aziraphale’s butt again, leaving streaks of his juices over the hot skin. Aziraphale whines at the sticky feeling but Crowley returns to his pussy, unable to resist its pull.

Resuming the slide of his fingers from clit to cunt, Crowley finally lifts his free right hand from where it has been resting on Aziraphale’s back, now bringing it down on top of his left cheek. The angle is different and a little difficult to manage, but Aziraphale cries out appreciatively.

Picking up the spanking with his right hand, Crowley focuses the other on pleasuring Aziraphale’s pussy. The Angel hadn’t asked for it but he’s not saying no either, which encourages Crowley to swirl his fingers over Aziraphale’s protruding clitoris before moving up to sink them inside his cunt.

Slick gushes out over his fingers, held tight inside hot silken walls that seem to suck him in deeper. Feeling his own cunt moistening further, Crowley begins a careful dance, plunging his fingers inside Aziraphale’s pussy in time with the forceful slaps he is raining down on his abused buttocks.

‘Oh, oh, darling,’ Aziraphale whimpers, burying his face in the fabric of the sofa as he is fucked amid punishing blows to his arse.

‘That’s it, angel,’ Crowley says hoarsely, breathing hard. ‘Just let go.’

Aziraphale shakes almost violently as his orgasm rips through him, the walls of his cunt squeezing Crowley’s fingers. Crowley soothes his right hand over Aziraphale’s arse, gently massaging at the reddened, overheated flesh until the Angel calms down, sagging in his lap.

Slowly, Crowley slips his fingers out and waits, his mind going blank as he tries to process this thing they’ve done.

Shuddering, Aziraphale picks himself up off Crowley’s lap, kneeling beside him for a moment with his eyes closed. He turns to the Demon with a blissful smile, his blue eyes sparkling and radiating satisfaction.

‘Oh, Crowley, that was - just now, that was…’

‘I dunno what that was,’ Crowley mutters, sinking back against the sofa. ‘Holy shit.’

With a chuckle, Aziraphale scoots closer and boldly straddles him. He whimpers when his abused arse comes to rest on Crowley’s thighs, but his radiant smile continues to shine.

Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s middle, tilting his head to look carefully at him. ‘So … you liked it.’

‘I loved it,’ Aziraphale looks hazy. ‘I was certain I would, but I think I liked it more than I expected even!’

‘Really,’ Crowley murmurs, thinking.

‘Perhaps in time, we can advance this to stages I’ve read about,’ Aziraphale continues dreamily. ‘Somehow, I imagine I’d enjoy trying out a paddle.’

That makes Crowley blanch, a reaction Aziraphale doesn’t miss.

‘Oh, my dear, why do you look like that? You gave me exactly what I wanted and it felt wonderful.’

‘Yes, I’m seeing that now,’ Crowley mutters.

‘What do you mean?’

Brows furrowing, Crowley finally admits, ‘I know humans have been doing this for a long time, but I never understood the appeal before. See,’ he frowns, ‘I’m more familiar with Hell’s style of corporal punishment and that’s … well, it’s neither pleasant nor pretty, let’s just say.’

Blue eyes widen as understanding abruptly dawns. ‘Oh! Oh, Crowley,’ Aziraphale says fervently, ‘oh, darling, you should’ve told me how you were feeling about this.’

Looking stricken, he puts his arms around Crowley’s neck and leans in to pepper kisses over his face.

‘I promise you, what we did just now was lovely,’ Aziraphale whispers between kisses to his cheeks, his temple, his nose. ‘You were perfect, my love. I felt so warm and safe in your arms. I adored everything you gave me.’

Cradling Crowley’s face in his hands, Aziraphale captures his mouth in a sweet kiss that Crowley eagerly returns, feeling himself calm down as Aziraphale licks and sucks at his bottom lip. Still kissing him, Aziraphale suddenly takes one of his hands, guiding it down between them to press on his mound.

‘Do you feel that?’ He murmurs against Crowley’s lips. ‘See how wet you made me. You were so good to me, darling.’

With a hum, Crowley kisses Aziraphale again, idly letting his fingers tease over Aziraphale’s still swollen clit and soaked folds.

Pulling back, Aziraphale looks down at Crowley’s flat crotch.

‘Though I suppose the act feels different for different people,’ he says, trying valiantly to hide his disappointment with a brave smile. ‘It didn’t do much in the way of inciting arousal for you, did it.’

‘Er, actually,’ Crowley mumbles, his cheeks heating, ‘I’m not wearing my usual tonight.’

‘Oh?’ Aziraphale raises his eyebrows.

‘Yeah,’ Crowley grunts. ‘Thing is … see, thing is, I wasn’t - I didn’t know how I’d feel if I popped a stiffy while I was hitting you -’

‘Spanking, my love,’ Aziraphale says firmly.

‘Or if I didn’t get one. And I didn’t know how you’d feel about me being turned on by it. Or not being, you know, into it…’

‘So you went with something that could keep your secret,’ says Aziraphale, smiling. ‘Would you mind letting me in on it?’

Crowley doesn’t reply but leans back to allow Aziraphale to open the button of his jeans.

‘How scandalous,’ Aziraphale breathes when he pulls down the zipper to reveal that Crowley is going commando.

‘Don’t think you’re in a position to judge that right now,’ says Crowley, amused. His breath hitches when Aziraphale slips his fingers inside his opened jeans without preamble.

‘Oh, you’re dripping!’ Aziraphale sounds delighted.

He moves his fingers, stimulating Crowley’s clit before reaching as far as he can go in their current position to probe at his entrance. Crowley squirms, humming with pleasure at the welcomed friction.

‘So you did enjoy yourself, at least a little.’

‘Not sure if the spanking had anything to do with it. In general, you have this effect on my pussy,’ Crowley returns bluntly.

Aziraphale shakes with soft laughter, blushing. ‘You smooth talker,’ he says fondly, thumbing at Crowley’s clit. ‘Perhaps next time you could talk while you spank me. I do so love that filthy mouth on you.’

Crowley shuts him up with a kiss again, moaning and sighing together as they continue to pleasure each other. Overcome with need, Crowley abruptly stands up with Aziraphale still in his arms. With a grunt of surprise, Aziraphale wraps his legs around Crowley’s hips.

‘Where are we going?’ he asks, nuzzling in to suck on Crowley’s earlobe.

‘Bedroom. I’m going to eat your cunt until you run dry and ride your face until I can’t think straight, and _then_ I might consider negotiating the use of paddles.’

Aziraphale laughs, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanking is not my go-to kink. I hope my attempt turned out ok! 
> 
> Their dynamic here was inspired by a funny sexy fanart I saw ages ago, where Aziraphale enjoys a thorough spanking but Crowley is so overwhelmed at the end that he is the one in need of smoochy aftercare … the artist has long since taken it down though.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts! You can also reach me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	9. (Dom/Sub) - filet mignon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **9: Dom/Sub** \- It's really not Crowley's fault that he didn't realise the human was flirting with him. His Angel is not pleased

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note on content** : female-presenting Aziraphale, male-presenting Crowley, dom!Aziraphale, sub!Crowley, Aziraphale has a vulva and a penis at different points, Crowley has a penis

Crowley has forgotten what it’s like to be flirted with.

This week marks two years since his first kiss with Aziraphale, three years since the thwarted Apocalypse, and four hundred years, give or take, since Crowley last touched a human.

Four hundred years since he gave up all pretence that anyone except Aziraphale is the one for him, and he found every excuse - even invented a few - to circumnavigate the seduction temptations Hell assigned him.

Humans flirt a lot less with him when he’s not deliberately spreading lust, and that’s just fine because Crowley would much rather shower his attentions on Aziraphale anyway.

All that is to say, Crowley can’t really be blamed for not immediately realising what the young woman, a customer that was in Aziraphale’s bookshop when he sauntered in a minute ago, is up to when she approaches him.

‘Heard your music when you pulled up,’ she says as Crowley passes her on his way to the backroom for a kip until Aziraphale is done for the day. ‘Fellow Freddie fan, huh?’

It’s been ages since Crowley’s had a substantial exchange with anyone* about Queen. He stops and pays attention, lips quirking when the woman, dark-haired and bright-eyed and _confident_ , introduces herself with a name Crowley forgets five seconds later and asks about his favourite song.

(* Aziraphale still classifies it as _bebop_.)

‘ _You’re My Best Friend_ ,’ Crowley replies without hesitation, eyes darting towards the front where he can see Aziraphale chase away another customer from her second edition shelves.

‘Oh? Mine is _Somebody to Love_ ,’ says the woman breathily, taking a step forward. Her gaze slides down from his sunglasses to the tips of his snakeskin shoes and back again. ‘Though _Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy_ comes very close.’

‘No wrong choice with Queen, really,’ says Crowley, turning back to her with an easy grin. He shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘You got the vinyls?’

Eyes lighting up, she goes on a tangent and soon they’re on a back-and-forth about the Live Aid Concert - it’s all Crowley can do to not snipe that he unequivocally knows better because he’d _been_ there - and, inevitably, the biopic Crowley still hasn’t watched.

‘What’d you mean you haven’t seen _Bohemian Rhapsody?_ ’ She demands, aghast. ‘Rami Malek smashed it!’

Crowley shrugs in lieu of explaining that he doesn’t need to see an actor mimic a man he’d spent a good chunk of the seventies and eighties getting drunk with and venting about one Angel.

‘Would you like to see it with me, then?’ She asks, biting her lower lip. ‘We could make a night of it in my place. Order in some pizza. The film’s on Netflix.’

‘Netflix and chill?’ Crowley says with a snort, imagining with some amusement a similar date with Aziraphale. He’d probably need a film from nearly a century ago to get her to consider a night in front of the telly.

Though she’d certainly be up for the _chill_ part of the date, no doubt.

Wait. A _date_?

‘Mm-hmm.’ The woman places her hand on his arm, just below the elbow.

The whole thing clicks for him _then_ and Crowley starts, removing his hands from his pockets to dislodge her. Amusement devolves into awkwardness, and then something worse when a wave of controlled Disapproval and Anger dissipates over them.

Looking round, Crowley stills when Aziraphale comes into view, approaching them with measured steps and a polite smile.

Dressed in a pleated skirt and a soft beige cardigan with a glimpse at the tartan-patterned shirt underneath, she would normally look the cuddliest and cosiest of Angels - if not for the ice in her normally warm blue eyes as she turns to her customer.

‘The shop is about to close.’

Crowley winces slightly. Aziraphale’s tone is on par with her attitude when scaring off mobsters after her shop.

‘But it’s the middle of the day,’ says the woman with a confused blink, seemingly oblivious.

‘My opening hours are clearly stated on the door. You may refer to them if you wish to return.’ It couldn’t have been plainer that nothing is more unwelcome.

Crowley shifts from one foot to the other. The human really ought to high tail it, now.

With a frown, the woman turns back to Crowley. He immediately begins to interject before she can proposition him again.

Aziraphale beats both of them to the punch.

With a single stride she is in Crowley’s space, pressing her breasts against his arm while a possessive hand slides down from his elbow to his wrist.

‘Escort the lady out, will you, darling?’ And she leans up to kiss his cheek, deliberately catching the corner of his mouth.

Crowley looks down at Aziraphale, eyebrows raised, as she draws back. His heartbeat, which has been picking up since the moment she appeared, is wild now.

Despite Aziraphale’s not-really-an-instruction to him, neither of them looks at the human again, who Crowley vaguely hears muttering something as she backs away. He can smell sheer mortification in the air, which fades as she turns and quickly leaves the bookshop.

There is a whiff of an ethereal miracle, and the door locks after her. Blinds drop down at every window and the signboard flips from _Open_ to _Closed_.

In the dawning silence, Crowley and Aziraphale regard each other. She is still pressed up against him.

‘Heavens blessed, angel, d’you realise how sexy you are when you get like this?’

‘She wanted you,’ says Aziraphale, her voice low.

‘I didn’t want her,’ replies Crowley, turning to face the Angel fully.

‘You let her flirt with you.’

‘Swear I didn’t realise. Thought she just wanted to talk music.’

‘Demons don’t realise when humans want sex? Don’t patronise me.’ Aziraphale gives him a look that makes Crowley want to either drop to his knees and beg forgiveness or drop to his knees and make love to his ruffled darling.

Or both.

‘Been out of the flirting game for centuries now. Except when it’s with you,’ says Crowley with a placating smile, taking Aziraphale into his arms.

She lets him pull her close by the waist, but places a hand on his chest when he leans in to kiss her. Next moment, Crowley finds himself prone on the bookshop floor. He barely registers the plush carpet, thoughtfully covered by a woollen blanket, under his back that he’s certain wasn’t there before, when a weight settles on his hips, pinning him down.

Blood rushing south, Crowley looks up breathlessly at Aziraphale straddling him, her pleated skirt flared out in a pretty circle.

‘Did you think I enjoyed seeing that?’ she asks, voice going hoarse as she begins to undo his tie. ‘For millennia, I watched you walk away with human after human on your arm, wallowing in the knowledge I could never be with you so freely. For millennia, I lay alone in bed with my hand between my legs while you were off fucking someone else.’

Her hands part his jacket and ruck up his grey henley, exposing the flat panes of Crowley’s torso.

‘For millennia, I wondered what it might be like if it were me. If it could ever be me.’

‘Was always you, angel,’ Crowley rasps, catching her forearms but not stopping her as she palms his chest, playing with the dusting of coarse hair and scratching at his nipples. ‘The humans were just assignments. They meant nothing.’

‘And now that you’re finally mine, I am to still compete with them?’

‘Never.’ Crowley brings up one of her hands, brushing his lips over her wrist. ‘I’m yours, my angel. For eternity.’

‘Perhaps we could do with a reminder of that,’ says Aziraphale. She runs a finger down his chest, all the way to his navel. ‘I want you nude. Now.’

He is so eager to obey he’s not sure if he even snapped his fingers before his clothes disappear. Despite the shop’s unfailing heating in the Autumn afternoon, the air feels cool on his skin, making him shiver.

His cock, now freed of its denim confines, springs up to press against what Crowley realises, with a jolt of arousal that makes him moan, is a very soaked, very knicker-less cunt. He bucks up involuntarily, shuddering as his prick slides over familiar pussy lips.

Immediately, Aziraphale’s hands are on his waist, pinning him down with her stunning, and frankly arousing, strength.

‘I didn’t say you could move.’

Stifling a groan, Crowley lets himself sink into the plush carpet, trying to ignore his throbbing cock.

With a hum of approval, Aziraphale rises. With her feet still planted on either side of Crowley’s hips, she begins to undress. Crowley’s eyes are drawn to every movement as Aziraphale shrugs off her cardigan, folds it neatly, and places it aside on the floor. She undoes every button of her shirt the human way, not seeming to care for the heated gaze eating up every inch of flushed skin being revealed. She puts away her shirt and then her skirt with the same care, heedless of the greedy gaze tracing every roll of her stomach and hips, her lush biteable thighs, her plump arse and the glistening folds of that sweet cunt.

All of his Angel is on glorious display except her ample breasts, which are barely held up in a wisp of a brassiere that leaves nothing to the imagination. The white lace is fully translucent, outlining her dusky areola, and distended where her large nipples are already pebbled. If the article were any smaller, her breasts would be spilling out completely.

The sight surprises Crowley, who knows Aziraphale to prefer something comfortably full-cupped, usually plain with not a hint of lace*, when she chooses this particular gender-presentation. It occurs to him that Aziraphale may have wished her brassiere into this while she undressed, for the singular purpose of tormenting him. His cock twitches, precum beginning to gather at the tip.

(* Not that Crowley’s libido is any less tickled by this, since the goal always is to rip off any number of bras to get at Aziraphale’s delectable tits.)

Crowley is salivating by the time Aziraphale turns back to him. Ignoring the cock on stand-by just for her, she steps forward instead and, to the Demon’s utter delight, kneels down over his face.

‘Oh angel,’ he sighs as her plush thighs cushion his head.

He wraps his arms around them, and when Aziraphale doesn’t rebuff him, is relieved. The hardest thing to endure when Aziraphale gets like this is when she doesn’t permit him to touch her in return, leaving his hands aching with the desire to feel her lovely skin.

Aziraphale slips her hand into his hair, gripping him firmly as she lowers her pussy to his mouth. ‘Well? Go on then. You know what you’re expected to do.’

Crowley needs no further command. With an eager hum, he tilts his face up to lick over folds. Soaked as she already is, her distinct salty-sweet flavour immediately bursts on his tongue, making him moan lewdly.

Laving over her puffy lips, Crowley makes sure to lick every drop of her juices off the soft skin before he slides his tongue between her labia to seek out her clit. Aziraphale makes a sound of approval, tightening her grip in his hair, as Crowley flicks his tongue over the swollen bud. Circling and licking over it in equal measure, he lets his hands wander, soothing up over her luscious thighs to hold her hips, and then further up her back to unhook her bra.

Aziraphale makes a sharp noise and Crowley halts.

‘I don’t think you’ve earned that yet, do you?’ she says, lips twitching at the corners.

With a disappointed whine, Crowley returns to her hips.

‘Do you want to touch my breasts?’

He gives an affirming hum around her clitoris.

‘Behave yourself then. You already have your mouth full, don’t you. Show me what that serpent’s mouth is good for.’

Groaning, Crowley sucks her clit into his mouth and keeps suckling until he has Aziraphale panting and quivering over him, her free hand entangling with one of his to keep her balance. With another hard lick at the nub, he slides his tongue down to probe at her entrance, where her juices have been steadily dripping onto his chin.

He licks up her slick with a filthy slurp and then shoves his tongue all the way inside, making her keen in that delightful way that makes his cock throb.

Crowley is painfully hard now, his prick fit to burst and aching to be buried inside Aziraphale’s tight heat, but he knows better than to ask. He is at his Angel’s service and she will take her pleasure from him when and how she pleases.

For him, it’s enough to have Aziraphale undulate over his face, canting her hips to ride his tongue and crying out with the pleasure he is dutifully providing her.

‘Oh, darling, do that again,’ she gasps, begs, _commands_.

Crowley obeys immediately, slipping his tongue out and then fucking back into her cunt, twisting it around to massage every inch of her hot silken walls he can reach.

It is a dance they’ve done before, countless times; Crowley’s long inhuman tongue, nearly a match for his cock as it drives into his Angel’s delicious pussy, and Aziraphale rocking down on his face, meeting every thrust at the angle that best pleases her.

‘Right there, right there,’ Aziraphale moans, her movements nearly frantic and her hold on his hair stinging.

Undeterred, Crowley keeps up, fucking into her sweet spot and licking her relentlessly while he noses at her clit.

His face is soaked, utterly marked as hers, and he loves it.

Crowley’s name rings through the air, a scream of love-soaked rapture, as Aziraphale comes in his mouth, her slick gushing out over his tongue and chin. She shakes with the force it, tugging on his hair and clutching his hand while her thighs quiver, threatening to give out.

Crowley holds her steady around the hip and carefully licks her through the waves of pleasure, finally moving up to kiss and suck her clit until she finally pushes his head gently, indicating she’s done.

For a long moment, they look at each other. Aziraphale’s blonde curls fall over her hanging head and her breasts heave as she gasps for breath. Cheeks flushed and blue eyes alive, she is the most beautiful thing Crowley has seen.

She is always the most beautiful thing.

‘ _She_ imagined doing this with you,’ says Aziraphale, still panting but with undeniable smugness in her voice.

It takes a moment for Crowley to even recall what led to all this in the first place. He smirks idly up at Aziraphale, turning to kiss the inside of one thigh.

‘Now why would I go for a cheap hamburger when I have filet mignon right here?’

An unruly snort escapes Aziraphale at that and she bites her lip, trying in vain to hold in her laughter.

‘Incorrigible.’

‘It’s the truth, though. There’s no one but you, my angel. Always you.’

Aziraphale’s eyes are soft as she smiles fondly down at him. ‘Good. But you’re not off the hook yet.’

‘Oh?’ Crowley looks hopefully up at her, his cock immediately at attention again.

His thoughts must be evident because Aziraphale gives a sweet laugh that should not have sounded so utterly naughty.

‘I think I’d like to fuck you now. Remind you to whom you pledged yourself.’

‘I’ll never forget, but go right ahead.’

Crowley is anticipating Aziraphale to sink down on him, but to his surprise, she snaps her fingers. His eyes widen when her pussy disappears, replaced by her other effort.

And this one is as hard as Crowley’s.

‘Oh,’ he breathes, impossibly even more turned on.

‘Turn over,’ Aziraphale murmurs, her heated eyes boring into him with dark promise. ‘I’m going to have you and take you and claim you until I mark you up from the inside.’

‘Fucking heaven, angel,’ Crowley says with a groan, scrambling up on to his hands and knees.

Aziraphale drapes over him and Crowley shudders when her lace-covered breasts press on his back while she winds a hand around him to grasp the base of his cock. Her own hard length, thick and leaking, nudges against his hole and, without warning, he is suddenly stretched open and lubricated and _ready_.

So, so ready to be fucked and claimed by his Angel.

‘Aziraphale, please,’ he whines, hanging his head. His arms are trembling with the effort of holding himself up.

‘You’re not going to come,’ she murmurs in his ear. ‘You’re going to stay like this and take everything I give you.’

‘Bloody hell.’ He is never going to be used to hearing Aziraphale speak like this.

‘But this gorgeous cock of yours is going to stay hard until I’m done. Do you understand, darling?’

It sounds like absolute torment, but Crowley does understand. ‘Yeah. Fuck.’

‘Lovely.’ Aziraphale drops a kiss on his shoulder. ‘And if you’re good for me, I’ll let you put your cock in me afterwards and let you come. How does that sound?’

‘Great,’ Crowley groans through gritted teeth.

‘And if you’re _very_ good for me,’ Aziraphale’s cock presses into him, the head catching onto his loose rim before popping inside, stretching Crowley open, ‘I might even let you take _this_ off,’ she slides her chest over his back, letting him feel her nipples through the sheer lace, ‘and fuck my breasts. Would you like that?’

‘Holy shit,’ is all Crowley is able to choke out, his mouth suddenly dry.

Aziraphale laughs. ‘I take it that’s an affirmative. Now are you ready, my love? We have a long evening ahead of us.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dom/Sub is another kink low on my preferences. I’ve read my fair share and enjoyed quite a few though.
> 
> I generally dislike hardcore power dynamics and imbalance, so here I tried a softer approach. Also switched things up a bit to bring you a D/S fic that’s hopefully a bit different from the norm but still works?
> 
> (The hamburger vs filet mignon line I stole from [Gloria Estefan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U1fhC00UNlA) XD)
> 
> Come scream at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	10. (Voyeurism) - oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **10\. Voyeurism** \- The night Aziraphale wrecks his heart, Crowley watches him touch himself

The night Aziraphale rejects Crowley, he touches himself.

The night Aziraphale wrecks his heart, Crowley watches him touch himself.

It’s not a situation either of them planned for, but once they are in the thick of it, neither of them does anything to stop it.

In hindsight, Crowley wonders what might it be like if he’d simply driven back home, with the little tartan flask nestled in his lap.

For one thing, he wouldn’t spend every single night that followed with the image of Aziraphale, hands between his legs and Crowley’s name on his lips, seared into his mind - a beautiful, terrible torment.

He wouldn’t spend every waking moment actually _knowing_ that he is not alone in this - this aching, burning, drowning feeling in his heart that suffocates him whenever he so much as thinks of Aziraphale.

Someone help him, he wouldn’t know that Aziraphale feels the same.

But he hadn’t driven back home as the haunting echo of _You go too fast for me, Crowley_ reverberated in his Bentley. He had gunned the car and pulled up at Aziraphale’s bookshop instead, his entire being thrumming with an angry frantic energy, ready to demand the Angel explain himself.

Demand that Aziraphale give him the words he always skirts around on eggshells.

This is the choice Crowley made and now he has to bear the consequences of it as he stands, frozen, in the doorway of Aziraphale’s backroom, watching the Angel reclined on his sofa with not a stitch of clothing below the waist.

He stands and watches as Aziraphale’s hand, soft and strong, reaches between legs spread wide to bare everything, _everything_ , to Crowley’s eyes.

He stands and stares as Aziraphale’s head falls back, his eyes fluttering shut as his breath escapes him in desperate little gasps, in time with the waltz of his hand.

Crowley stands in the doorway to Aziraphale’s backroom and bears witness to his best friend’s biggest secret as the loveliest being he has ever known shakes apart with a single name on his tongue,

 _Crowley!_

And Crowley’s heart breaks all over again because he _understands_ then -

Crowley is not too fast, nor is Aziraphale too slow.

Aziraphale is _forbidden_ and Crowley is _not allowed_.

The Angel is cruel, he thinks then, trembling in his skin while his own body betrays him, straining against the tight fit of his trousers.

The Angel is cruel because he knows Crowley is there, cannot _not_ know that Crowley is right there, but he is choosing to show this to Crowley anyway.

Aziraphale is showing Crowley that he is not alone in this feeling, this stupid heart-wrenching human emotion that was never meant for an Angel, much less a Demon.

Aziraphale is showing Crowley that every beat of his demonic heart that shouldn’t have a heartbeat is completely, irrevocably reciprocated.

Aziraphale is showing Crowley everything that he has ever wanted but can never have.

Perhaps one day, he will be grateful for it; that Aziraphale, in his own way, has given Crowley the answer to the very question he never dared ask.

But for tonight, there is no comfort for Crowley in Aziraphale’s love - a mirage of an oasis in the desert he is fated to roam forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone give me a medal, I actually managed to write a 'ficlet' for once lmao
> 
> Y'all didn't think I'd go without some angst thrown in, did you XD Gotta be on brand after all ahaha
> 
> Come talk to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	11. (Clothed or Lingerie) - blasphemous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **11: Clothed or Lingerie** \- Crowley makes for a dirty, sweaty gardener and Aziraphale is Very Much Into It.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note on content** : Aziraphale has a penis, Crowley is effort-less at first then wears a vulva, both are male-presenting, brief top!Aziraphale and bottom!Crowley, mentions of switching
> 
> Also, when I say Aziraphale is into sweaty-gardener!Crowley, I mean that in every sense. So if that ain’t your cup of tea…

For as long as Aziraphale has known him, Crowley has had no scruples using frivolous miracles for anything and everything. Then they bungle up the ending of the world, and Aziraphale discovers Crowley’s two exceptions to the aforementioned rule:

Making love to Aziraphale, and taking care of his plants.

Aziraphale finds out about the first right after the thwarted Apocalypse, when Crowley takes him home, takes him to bed, and takes him ultimately, unravelling Aziraphale with his touch alone to leave the Angel with an eternity-long addiction.

Aziraphale finds out about the second some five years after that, in the quaint seaside cottage they move into together so that Crowley can continue to unravel him with more convenience, at all hours of the day, on any available surface.

The surface Aziraphale is considering this morning is the sturdy apple tree* Crowley planted in their back garden for a lark.

(* The first time it bore fruit, Crowley laid Aziraphale down under the laden boughs and made love to him for hours in their shade. Aziraphale found it unbearably romantic, but also -

‘You just _had_ to find a way to be blasphemous somehow, didn’t you,’ Aziraphale moaned, clutching at Crowley’s shoulders

‘Dunno what you mean,’ Crowley chuckled, his grin as mischievous and wicked as his tireless hips. ‘I’d have done this under the blessed Tree had I known how thirsty you were for me from the first day.’)

It’s here in their garden that Aziraphale first witnessed his debonair snap-your-fingers-for-anything Demon crouch down in muddy Wellingtons and dig his fingers into warm wet earth, to grow what Aziraphale now privately thinks of as their own little Eden.

There is something incredibly charming about it, that Crowley cares enough about this hobby to give such personal, human attention to his plants. It’s _almost_ enough to offset his incorrigible terrorising of them whenever he catches spotting or yellowing or whatever supposedly constitutes green disobedience.

Crowley isn’t doing any yelling or threatening right now, however. He had earlier while yanking out parasitic weeds that _dared_ take root in his territory, but presently he is simply watering the vegetable patches*.

(* He’d planted them after Aziraphale offhandedly wished aloud one day to have the freshest possible produce for their venture into home-cooking**.

** Part and parcel of retirement.)

The image of Crowley wielding a watering can isn’t the only thing that has Aziraphale growing hard in his trousers, though.

Stepping out of the back door, Aziraphale’s gaze lingers on his beloved, observing the long auburn hair currently twisted into a careless knot and imagines pulling those curls loose to flow down Crowley’s back. His eyes slide to Crowley’s face, which is set in concentration and lightly tanned, pairing nicely with the golden eyes he no longer hides behind sunglasses to Aziraphale’s never-ending joy.

What has snagged Aziraphale’s attention most, however, is the sight of Crowley’s arms, long and lean and muscled, flexing with the whipcord strength Aziraphale intimately knows they posses and glistening under the summer sun.

They snagged Aziraphale’s attention because, to this day, Crowley usually dresses much in the same style he had circa Armageddon*, an endless array of dark jackets and shirts that decidedly have _sleeves_. Long ones. Crowley’s donning of casual wear is limited strictly to these moments he spends gardening, jeans replaced by worn out sweatpants and his tops taking on the form of faded tee shirts and vests.

(* Half of the time, anyway. Clothes don’t exist for either of them during the rest.)

He is wearing a vest now, a black one that clings unnecessarily to his torso like a second skin that he may as well not be wearing anything. Aziraphale wouldn’t complain - and he certainly isn’t now as he watches beads of sweat roll down Crowley’s strong arms, dot the elegant arch of his neck, and disappear into that plunging neckline which shows off more than just a hint of chest hair.

It’s not lost on Aziraphale, really, that the only times he truly appreciates modern garments - and _casual_ ones at that! - are when they are on Crowley.

Specifically, a Crowley dirty and sweaty from doing something he loves, and revealing just enough skin to drive Aziraphale mad with desire.

Biting his lower lip, Aziraphale leaves the doorway and crosses the garden.

The Demon looks up at his approach, face splitting into that easy smile Aziraphale adores.

‘Hey, angel, done restoring that book? Lemme finish up and maybe we can grab brunc - mmph!’

Crowley’s grunt of surprise morphs into a pleased hum when Aziraphale draws him into an ardent kiss with a yank at his vest. Tilting his face, he returns the kiss with a few teasing nips at Aziraphale’s lower lip, bending down slightly so that their mouths are the only point of contact between them.

Aziraphale isn’t having it, though, and when Crowley makes to draw away, he tightens his fist in the vest and grabs him around the waist, pulling them flush against each other. The watering can slips from Crowley’s hand as the Demon reflexively wraps his arms around Aziraphale.

The damp immediately begins to seep from Crowley’s vest into the front of Aziraphale’s shirt; he shivers at the feeling.

‘Angel,’ says Crowley, a little raggedly as his breaks the kiss, ‘I should shower firsss…’ He trails off in a hiss when Aziraphale occupies his mouth by licking a stripe up the side of Crowley’s neck.

The familiar tang that Aziraphale associates with Crowley assaults him, salty and more potent than usual on his tongue. A soft moan escapes Aziraphale, his eyes falling shut.

‘Heavens blessed,’ groans the Demon. ‘I’m sweaty and wet -’

‘Mm hmm,’ Aziraphale acknowledges as he kisses along Crowley’s hot skin until his lips settle on the divot of his throat, tasting the salt gathered there. He licks and sucks on the little hollow,revelling in Crowley’s natural flavour while he loosens his grip on the vest to palm at Crowley’s chest, playing with the light dusting of sweat-damp hair.

‘Shit, angel, I’m all gross -!’

‘Never,’ Aziraphale breathes, leaning back to meet Crowley’s disbelieving eyes. ‘You’re lovely and scrummy, just like this.’

‘Did you just fucking call me _scrummy_?’ Crowley gives a long-suffering groan.

‘Can I help it when it’s true?’ Aziraphale tries for a cheeky smile only to miss and fall instead on predatory; his eyes follow the path of his hands up Crowley’s arm, sliding over slick skin to feel his biceps and sharp shoulders and then down again.

‘Fucking heaven,’ Crowley deadpans. ‘You watched me get all dirty in the garden and that turned you on?’

Aziraphale decides that kissing is preferable to reminding Crowley of all the times _he_ had bent Aziraphale over every surface in their kitchen merely at the sight of him baking and covered in flour.

‘You’re gonna end up ruining your shirt,’ Crowley warns him between kisses growing filthier by the second.

‘I really could not care less*, dear,’ Aziraphale tells him before pushing Crowley backwards until he is pressed up against their apple tree.

(* When one enters into an emotionally and physically fulfilling relationship with a Demon in possession of a libido to match his nature, one learns to upgrade their wardrobe to include daily wear acceptable for ripping off their body by said Demon.)

‘This feels familiar,’ Crowley says with a breathless chuckle.

With a hum, Aziraphale mouths at his sharp collarbones, still caressing Crowley’s bicep with one hand while the other slips under the hem of the undershirt to feel along Crowley’s stomach, as heated and damp as the rest of him.

‘It’s a good thing you’re not interested in gardening,’ says Crowley with amusement, tilting his head to allow Aziraphale to suck on his neck again, ‘else I’d never get any work done with you jumping me every other second.’

Aziraphale looks up. ‘Are you … do you dislike it? Is this all right?’

‘Hey, hey, it’s more than all right,’ Crowley assures him at once, pulling Aziraphale against him. ‘Bit surprising, but who am I to judge if a sexy tumble with the dirty gardener is what floats your boat -’

‘Oh, do shut up.’ Aziraphale interrupts Crowley’s teasing with another kiss, biting at his lips when he feels Crowley smirking.

Pressing closer, Aziraphale rolls his hips against Crowley’s, letting the Demon know the insistent bulge in his trousers. To his surprise, there is no bulge to greet him back, making him pull away questioningly.

‘Yeah, ’m not wearing anything.’ Crowley shrugs.

Aziraphale blinks, because not only have they made love as recently as last night, but Aziraphale’s observations of Crowley’s ever tightening fashions across the millennia let him know early on that the Demon, more often than not, makes an effort.

‘C’mon, gardening in the middle of fucking summer? There’s a reason they call it _hot as balls_ , yanno.’

‘Oh.’

With a knowing grin, Crowley drops another kiss on his lips. ‘What are you in the mood for, angel? I’ll make you anything you like.’

_Hot as balls_ , Crowley had said. Aziraphale’s mind is whirring, tilting his head up for more kisses even as he slips a curious hand under the waistband of Crowley’s sweatpants. His fingers skim over Crowley’s featureless mons, running over the thatch of coarse curls to feel between Crowley’s legs.

Even without genitals, the area is hot to the touch and the skin already damp and slick from sweat.

Moaning low in his throat, Aziraphale impatiently pushes at Crowley’s sweatpants, which the Demon takes as his cue to vanish the offending garment off his legs entirely.

‘Well? What’ll it be?’ Crowley asks in a rasp that sends fire shooting through Aziraphale’s loins.

‘Actually, this is just fine,’ replies Aziraphale, swiftly unfastening his trousers to free his erection.

Crowley looks uncomprehending up until Aziraphale leans into him, nudging his blunt tip at the gap between the Demon’s thighs.

‘Oh, fuck,’ he says.

‘Is this all right?’ Aziraphale whispers.

In answer, Crowley grasps him, sliding his fist from base to head with a miracle that leaves Aziraphale’s cock dripping with lubricant. He guides Aziraphale between his legs, closing his thighs tight until the Angel is gasping at the glide of heated skin on his cock.

‘Go on, angel,’ Crowley says breathily. ‘Do it. I want to feel you.’

He fills his hands with Aziraphale’s arse when the Angel rocks in, pushing and guiding as Aziraphale begins to fuck his thighs.

Crowley’s legs are like the rest of him, long and lean with muscles containing deceptive strength. The insides of his thighs flex and jump with every thrust of Aziraphale’s cock between them, holding the Angel snug and warm.

The drag of skin, slippery with sweat and lube, feels incredible, sending flares of heat and desire rushing from his cock to seemingly every other part of him.

Moaning, Aziraphale presses his face into Crowley’s neck, his hands on his waist clenching at the black vest. He angles his hips up so that his prick presses over Crowley’s bare perineum with each slide, hoping that the friction feels pleasant for his Demon as well.

Crowley digs his fingers into the meat of Aziraphale’s arse, urging him to go faster as their pelvises meet with wet, slapping sounds. Mouth caught up in another kiss, sloppier this time, Aziraphale obliges the unspoken demand, undulating harder.

It is several seconds after the fact that Aziraphale picks up on Crowley’s abrupt change, first noticing the higher pitch in Crowley’s voice, and then the increasing wetness between them.

His cock moves in and out from between Crowley’s thighs, sliding over skin, and now what Aziraphale realises are the slick folds of an unmistakeable cunt.

‘Oh!’ He gasps into Crowley’s mouth.

The Demon’s head falls back against the tree, lips curving up in a saucy smile. ‘Decided I want my fun, too,’ he says, voice breaking with need.

‘Oh, darling,’ Aziraphale moans, latching onto the delectable curve of Crowley’s neck.

His thrusts are gaining in vigour, now even more egged on by Crowley’s freshly manifested pussy. Aziraphale’s prick slides between the soft labia, spreading the leaking slick and rubbing on Crowley’s clit with every move, making the Demon moan and arch against him.

His lips travel over Crowley’s neck, throat and chest, biting kisses into the warm skin and lapping up his intoxicating taste. Crowley’s vest is pulled taut, on the edge of ripping as Aziraphale’s fists dig into his slim waist to hold his Demon in place as he fucks him into the tree.

The building heat in his gut is knotting up, pulling him close to the edge, and from Crowley’s helpless cries, Aziraphale knows he is walking the line with him.

Without warning, Aziraphale picks Crowley up around the waist and pushes him against the unforgiving bark, instinct guiding Crowley to wrap his legs around the Angel’s hips. The next thrust sends Aziraphale plunging into Crowley’s awaiting heat, tearing a scream from the Demon as his dripping pussy readily yields to the Angel’s hard cock.

Aziraphale thrusts his hips wildly, driving twice, thrice into Crowley, and that’s all it takes. He sobs as his pleasure crests, shooting off as deep inside Crowley as he can go, trembling with the force of it.

He presses the Demon into the tree, panting into his neck as the high slowly dissipates and he softens. He lowers Crowley to the ground, looking up at him with dazed eyes to find Crowley smiling.

‘There you are, sweetheart.’

With a hum, Aziraphale leans into him, content in Crowley’s warmth as he is wrapped up in a loving embrace. Then it occurs to him -

‘Oh dear, you didn’t finish, did you?’

‘Issalright,’ Crowley chuckles, eyes crinkling with gentle amusement. ‘I think you needed this more than me.’

Aziraphale huffs, and without further ado, proceeds to push Crowley down under the bountiful shade of their apple tree. Crowley goes with surprise but willingly, eyebrows raised as Aziraphale hovers over him.

‘I intend to fully make it up to you,’ Aziraphale promises, nudging Crowley’s legs open to reveal his sex; a flushed pink cunt, currently sopping wet and beginning to leak with the short-lived attentions it has received. So far.

Not caring for the dirt and grass stains his trousers are sure to suffer, Aziraphale makes himself comfortable between Crowley’s long legs.

‘I shall need a short respite, but until then, I’ll make you feel so good, darling,’ he tells Crowley warmly before lowering his mouth to his cunt.

Crowley makes an appreciative noise as a warm tongue parts his folds to lick at his clit.

‘This is great, angel, but not really necessary…’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Aziraphale murmurs. He suckles Crowley’s clit until the Demon is bucking under him, and then continues, ‘I recall all too well how you made love to me under this very apple tree, so many moons ago. I’ve always wanted to return the pleasure.’

‘I seem to remember you called that whole business _blasphemous_ ,’ Crowley returns, his chuckle petering off into a moan when the Angel laves his tongue over his pussy lips, spreading the mix of slick and come everywhere.

‘I didn’t mind after you made me come more than a dozen times,’ says Aziraphale before pushing his tongue inside Crowley’s cunt.

‘ _Ohh_! Oh, angel … that many?’

‘I lost count,’ Aziraphale admits, going up on his knees to tug his recovering cock back to hardness. ‘I couldn’t walk straight afterwards, thanks to you.’

‘Looks like I set the bar pretty damn high, huh,’ Crowley drawls with a look of intense smugness Aziraphale immediately intends to fuck out of him.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley vanishes their remaining clothes and swings his legs onto Aziraphale’s shoulders.

‘C’mon then, sweetheart, you have a record to beat.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost chose lingerie but went with clothed bc I couldn't get this image ^ out of my head. Might give lingerie a try sometime tho
> 
> Come talk to me about these dorks on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	12. (Swimming/In Water) - avenging angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **12\. Swimming/In Water** \- To be clear, Aziraphale doesn’t mean to ruin Crowley’s assignment. That doesn't mean the Demon isn't going to get even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note on content** : Crowley and Aziraphale are both male-presenting with penises, top!Crowley, bottom!Aziraphale, very brief Crowley/Other (human male)
> 
>  **Warning** : Crowley and Aziraphale have an established sexual relationship, and neither of them actually minds the other touching them in the (rather unorthodox) manner that they do in this ficlet, but just in case - warning for mildly dubious consent

To be clear, Aziraphale doesn’t mean to ruin Crowley’s assignment.

The two of them have been honouring a mutual if unspoken agreement to never interfere with each other’s work for a couple millennia now.

Aziraphale will be hard pressed to state exactly when this agreement came into effect. If he has to, he’d vaguely - and blushingly - place the date around the time humans discovered fermentation, when Aziraphale and Crowley fell into bed together the first time they experienced inebriety.

The following morning had been awkward as, well, hell - until they did it again, and then again, and then owned up to the fact that they like it* enough to keep doing it. Thwarting each other’s work is counterproductive when two hereditary enemies are looking for any excuse to sneak off, and get off.

(* A few thousand years still have to pass before they own up to liking _each other_.)

But Aziraphale finds his patience, and a few other qualities, tested after they run into each other in Rome.

He fails the test. Quite spectacularly, really. Crowley will never let him live the mortification down.

To his distaste, his assignment to influence young Nero necessitates building a rapport with several senators, a number of whom enthusiastically engage in the less savoury activities the Emperor favours. It’s solely for this reason that Aziraphale finds himself at one particular carnal gathering* where, it turns out, Crowley is also spreading his wiles.

(* Crowley will dare Aziraphale to say the word ‘orgy’ later. The Angel will still refuse.)

Crowley has never discussed his seduction temptations with Aziraphale before and till now, that was perfectly fine with the Angel. He has, of course, _known_ about them, but Aziraphale doesn’t want details.

He’d rather content himself with the knowledge that over the years, it is his bed that Crowley returns to, and more often than not, stays in until the sun rises and they can’t shirk their duties any longer.

On this night, however, amid the hordes of writhing naked bodies, Aziraphale bears witness to Crowley’s temptations to lust.

Incongruously, the Demon is still dressed. Lounging carelessly in a low seat with one leg hitched up, his dark toga is enticingly hiked up around his hips, leaving his lower body on tantalising display. A silver wreath of laurels shine among his dark red curls.

In contrast, the target of his temptation, a senior aide to Caligula that Aziraphale recognises by face if not name, iscompletely nude.

He is also knelt between Crowley’s legs, bent over to please the Demon with his mouth.

The sight dispels all other thoughts from Aziraphale’s mind, including his need to find two senators he is meant to speak with.

As still as one of the suggestive statues adorning the vast room, Aziraphale watches Crowley, wearing a little smirk, stroke the aide’s hair as one might a pet. His lips are moving and Aziraphale imagines Crowley breathing filth in the human’s ear, praising him for sucking cock so well, encouraging him to do better, _worse_ …

Aziraphale has a single thought as the aide mouths at Crowley’s head, leaving the rest of his shaft unattended in favour of running his hands over Crowley’s thighs:

 _Pathetic_.

And then he ruins Crowley’s assignment.

Again, to be clear, _that_ wasn’t Aziraphale’s intention when he, without thinking, hurls a miracle Crowley’s way - a surge of power that manipulates the very air around the Demon to seize his cock. It twists up and around his stiff member, gripping him the way Aziraphale _knows_ Crowley likes being touched; caressing him with the same feel of Aziraphale’s sure hand.

In tandem, the air around Crowley’s bollocks is manipulated too, squeezing and massaging his sac the way Aziraphale has done thousands of times before - and better than the poor stimulation the human is providing, Aziraphale thinks with a flare of vindictive pleasure, because _he_ doesn’t know Crowley the way Aziraphale does.

 _He_ is not Crowley’s the way Aziraphale is. Or anything even close to vice versa.

The combined result of this poorly thought out miracle has Crowley yelping in shock and arousal, hips jolting as his cock shoots off - right into the unsuspecting human’s mouth.

Gagging and spluttering from his unpreparedness, the aide falls back, come dripping from his lips. Still coughing and growing increasingly red in the face, he chokes out something to Crowley and dashes off.

By then, a twinge of belated guilt is searing at Aziraphale. He contritely sends a blessing the human’s way, easing his cough and discomfort.

It’s too late, however. Crowley is already staring at him.

Aziraphale tries to apologise when Crowley marches him outside onto a balcony, rounding on the Angel with a growled,

‘What the fuck was _that_?!’

‘I don’t know what came over me.’

‘I was supposed to get him in bed by the end of the night,’ Crowley hisses, frowning. ‘He is key to a major scandal that will have repercussions -’

‘Surely he will still be amenable -’ Aziraphale begins placatingly.

‘Why the heavens did you meddle?’ Crowley interrupts. ‘We don’t _do_ that. We haven’t done that to each other in thousands of years.’

‘No,’ Aziraphale agrees, biting his lip. ‘As I said, I don’t know what came over me.’

Crowley’s crocked eyebrow lets Aziraphale know his excuse is not being bought.

‘I … what can I do?’ Aziraphale tries uncertainly, taking a step forward. ‘The night is still young…’

Crowley catches Aziraphale’s wrists when the Angel reaches for his shoulders, halting his attempt for a kiss.

‘I’m here on a job, angel, not for pleasure.’ His expression is calmer now, but Aziraphale hears the edge in his voice; Crowley is still irritated with him.

‘Please, let me make it up to you,’ Aziraphale murmurs, trying to get close again.

Crowley’s lips twitch up in something that isn’t quite a smile. ‘Oh, you will, angel, but I get to decide how.’

‘What do you mean?’ Aziraphale asks, his heart picking up.

‘Tit for tat, eh?’ With a careless shrug, Crowley leaves Aziraphale standing on the balcony.

It is two days later that Aziraphale discovers what Crowley’s chosen _tit_ is - and that he has been right to fret over it ever since the Demon left him hanging like that.

Late in the afternoon, Aziraphale walks into a thermae, back on track to befriend the senators he had missed* the last time. Aziraphale is not particularly one for public baths, but Rome’s bathhouses are hubs of social activity, and the prospect of talking with naked humans unwinding in water is preferable to talking with naked humans unwinding each other.

(* Completely forgot about.)

He goes through the whole process of undressing, oil anointments and cleansing without a hitch, before at last finding his sought-after senators relaxing in the warmer pool inside the tepidarium.

Everything proceeds smoothly up until Aziraphale gets in the water, and with a light joke he has been practising to break the ice, is invited to chat with the two middle-aged humans.

From there, it all goes pear-shaped.

Or perhaps something a bit more phallic.

Aziraphale opens his mouth to speak and promptly forgets everything, including the senators’ names, as all of his senses converge on a very specific part of his anatomy.

He has made an effort, of course, one being necessary to blend in easier - and now that effort is stirring as tendrils of water, incredibly warm, glide along his sensitive skin, igniting sparks of unexpected pleasure.

Aziraphale’s mouth goes dry and he snaps it shut. The humans look expectantly at him.

‘Y-yes, as I was about to say…’ Aziraphale’s voice trails off with a gasp, tensing as another current of water, warmer than before and with greater pressure, envelopes his cock. It’s gone as swiftly as it came and he blinks, dazed.

‘Dominus Aziraphale?’ says one of the senators. Aziraphale still cannot recall his name. Di-something, he thinks.

He is so startled and distracted by what just happened that he doesn’t even flinch, like he tends to, at the title* he has reluctantly taken on for his role here in Rome.

(* Aziraphale may or may not have used his station to buy slaves from other Domini, to secretly heal and free them.)

‘You were saying, about the cithara?’ prompts the second senator.

‘Ah, yes!’ says Aziraphale, his voice pitching higher than normal. ‘I do believe that instilling a love of music and the arts wou - _ooh_!’

He claps a hand over his mouth, biting back shudders as the water comes alive around his nether region, cocooning his cock in what feels like the grip of a hand. The liquid touch strokes him with a teasing, confident touch that Aziraphale will recognise anywhere.

 _That sly serpent_ , Aziraphale thinks with a furious blush. He nearly leaps off the ledge where he is sat with the senators when a current of water swirls around his head, prodding at his slit.

Although submerged to his chest in mildly murky waters, Aziraphale cups himself, aware of the two humans staring at him.

‘Dominus Aziraphale, did something happen -?’

‘You’re very flushed, are you unwell?’

Aziraphale tries to choke out reassurance, but this time, he has barely gathered his thoughts when Crowley - from wherever he is hiding - ups his ante.

Cock still caught in the incessant watery grip, a warm tendril sweeps over Aziraphale’s taut balls to tease along his perineum and press, without preamble, inside his opening. He stands up abruptly, mouth dry and grappling for the edge of the bath to steady himself, as he is stretched open and the water enters him.

It doesn’t feel so much like liquid as it does a slippery cock.

And as the water withdraws only to drive up his pliant arse once more, over and over, he realises with a conflicting mix of mortification and arousal that the tendril has taken on the exact shape and length of _Crowley’s_ cock.

His face feels like the sun as he stands there, being pleasured, being _fucked_ , in a warm pool under the increasingly bewildered stares of two mortals.

Crowley’s infernal aura has been made known to him now; Aziraphale can sense his presence, beckoning.

‘Forgive me,’ Aziraphale breathes, voice cracking. ‘I - I’m afraid I … I’ve taken rather ill, it seems.’

With that, he leaves the two senators gaping after him as Aziraphale spins around and climbs out of the bath. For a moment, he fears that the watery touches will follow; to his relief, the pressure on his cock dissipates and the liquid inside him spills out. He has just enough presence of mind to inspire the other humans to ignore him as he hurries out of the chamber, still cupping his straining erection.

Crowley’s aura is stronger now. Trembling from both the lingering arousal and indignation, Aziraphale storms across the mosaic floors, following the occult thread which leads him to the vaulted - and unexpectedly empty - frigidarium.

Aziraphale halts in his tracks, blinking in surprise at the edge of the pool. With the other bath chambers as crowded as they are this afternoon, there should be humans in here too.

Movement catches his eye and Aziraphale looks across the still waters of the pool; the source of that infernal aura is lounging in the bath at the far end, looking right back at him.

Ah. That’s why the chamber is empty then.

Frowning, Aziraphale walks swiftly along the length of the poolside until he is mere feet away from the bathing Demon.

Crowley is sprawled on the ledge, leaning lazily against the wall of the bath. Through the water, Aziraphale can clearly see his nude form - and the hand idly stroking his erect cock.

Raising an eyebrow, Crowley drawls with a pointed glance at Aziraphale’s crotch, still covered by his hands, ‘Whatever you’re hiding there, I’ve already seen it.’

‘Crowley, what were you playing at?’ Aziraphale snaps.

‘Wasn’t it obvious?’ Crowley says lightly. ‘It was a neat trick you did the other night, manipulating the air like that. I was curious about water.’

‘I was with company,’ Aziraphale exclaims. ‘I was working -’

‘And _I_ was with intimate company,’ Crowley interrupts, ‘and working hard too, when _you_ interfered.’

Aziraphale trails off, breathing hard. ‘I see,’ he mutters. ‘I ruined your assignment, so you ruined mine.’

‘Told you, didn’t I? Tit for tat.’ Crowley tilts his head. ‘C’mon, you’re an Angel. Aren’t you supposed to be all for fairness?’

‘I offered to make it up to you!’ Aziraphale protests, dropping his hands to his sides.

‘Make it up to me how? You scared off the human, so you suck my cock in his stead?’

‘Oh, is _that_ what he was doing?’ Aziraphale snipes, glowering at the Demon. ‘It looked to me like he was attempting to devour a pork kebab too big for his mouth.’

In the moment of ringing silence that falls, Aziraphale comprehends what he has just said. Eyes widening, he takes a step back.

‘I …’

There is the sound of a _snap_ , and in the blink of an eye, Aziraphale finds himself in the water. The starkly cooler temperature compared to the tepidarium evokes an undignified yelp, which turns into a gasp as strong arms wind around him, bringing him flush against a tall, lean body.

Clutching at Crowley’s upper arms, Aziraphale looks up into warm golden eyes.

‘See, this is why I don’t tell you about my seduction temptations,’ Crowley says with a chuckle. ‘Knew you’d be a jealous, avenging angel.’

‘I wasn’t jealous,’ Aziraphale argues, trying not to be distracted. The Demon is on his feet and his cock, hard and familiar, is pressing against Aziraphale’s.

‘You nearly made a human bite my _kebab_ off because you wanted that to be you,’ Crowley says, grinning broadly. ‘Jealousy is a sin, you know.’

‘ _Envy_ is a sin,’ Aziraphale states primly.

Crowley laughs. ‘Thin ice, angel.’

‘Say what you will, then.’ Aziraphale begins to squirm, trying to pull away. His face heats up when their cocks brush together again. ‘You’ve made your point and balanced the scales, as it were.’

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Crowley tightens his embrace, rolling his hips deliberately against the Angel.

Aziraphale bites his lower lip, muffling a moan. ‘What are you doing?’

‘You don’t think this is over yet, surely?’ Crowley murmurs, his breath ghosting over Aziraphale’s parted lips as he leans down. ‘You are yet to keep your word on making it up to me.’

‘What? You - !’ Aziraphale begins indignantly, flushing.

‘And _I_ have to make it up to _you_ as well, don’t I? For messing with you in turn.’

Aziraphale stills, looking up at the Demon uncertainly. ‘How do you mean?’

A pair of soft lips covers his own, kissing him with unexpected tenderness that leaves Aziraphale feeling bereft when Crowley pulls back. Smiling, Crowley slides his hands, resting on the small of Aziraphale’s back, down over his arse.

‘I’ll make it up to you by finishing what I started, and _you_ ,’ Crowley grabs him by the backs of his thighs. Aziraphale grabs the Demon around the neck, following the cue to wrap his legs around Crowley’s hips, ‘you can make it up to me by letting me show you a good time.’

He rolls his hips as he speaks, and Aziraphale makes a noise of anticipation as the tip of Crowley’s cock nudges his entrance.

‘Did you like what I did with the water?’ Crowley murmurs, grazing his lips over Aziraphale’s cheek to kiss along his jawline. ‘The way it stretches and fills you up?’

‘It would’ve been lovelier if two humans hadn’t been staring at me like I was going insane,’ Aziraphale mumbles, and Crowley chuckles into his neck. ‘You did a commendable job with the length and shape of it.’

Crowley hums, a smug little sound that would have been irritating if he weren’t sucking on Aziraphale’s neck. ‘Yeah, I bet you enjoyed it. The way you _beg_ for it sometimes, angel, _fuck_ -’

‘But you know, the texture was all wrong,’ Aziraphale speaks over him. ‘The feel of it.’

Crowley leans back to look at him, eyebrows raised.

‘It was just liquid, it had no real substance,’ Aziraphale murmurs. He lets the buoyancy of the water carry him, canting his hips down to rub enticingly on Crowley’s cock.

‘Not solid enough.’

Crowley blesses under his breath, eyes widening. Aziraphale knows what’s coming next, but it makes him cry out still when Crowley thrusts up into him. For a split second, the stretch as Crowley’s cock impales him borders on painful; then Aziraphale senses the whiff of a minor miracle, realising Crowley has prepared him.

‘Solid enough for you, angel?’ Crowley growls.

‘It’ll do,’ Aziraphale shoots back, unable to bite back his smile. But when Crowley begins to roll into him, it dawns anew where they are. ‘Wait, Crowley, this is a public space -’

‘Trust me, Aziraphale,’ Crowley nips at his lower lip, ‘we’re _hardly_ the first ones to get a little handsy in a bath house.’

‘Oh, that’s not very hygi -’ Aziraphale loses his train of thought as pleasure sears through him, drawing out an echoing moan. ‘Oh, oh, Crowley! P-please…!’

‘Right there, huh?’ Crowley breathes, slowing down his thrusts to grind up into Aziraphale, pressing insistently at that sensitive spot inside him.

‘Oh, my dear,’ Aziraphale pants, clinging closer. ‘You’re going to ma - _aaah_! C-Crowle - aahh! Please! S-someone will hear!’

‘There’s no one here,’ Crowley whispers, kissing the corner of his mouth.

‘There will be, if you insist on making me - !’ Aziraphale almost wails, toes curling and thighs tightening around Crowley’s hips when the Demon thrusts again.

‘Point taken,’ Crowley says with a ragged chuckle. ‘We can’t have you alerting every human within a three mile radius, now, can we?’

Aziraphale clutches at him, about to protest in case Crowley is thinking of _stopping_ , but then cool water washes over him completely as he finds himself pulled under.

Crowley pushes down on Aziraphale, laying him down on the floor of the pool. Blinking in surprise, the Angel opens his mouth* only to be silenced by a slick tongue, sliding inside to stroke sensually along his.

(* Like breathing is merely a pointless habit, so does talking underwater pose little problem for supernatural entities that _expect_ to be heard.)

The marble floor is cool on his back and Aziraphale is glad for Crowley’s warmth as the Demon presses down on him. Nudging Aziraphale’s legs open, Crowley enters him again, his movements fluid and swift and sure.

Aziraphale sighs in pleasure as Crowley draws back after another kiss, opening his eyes to follow the path of air bubbles back to the surface. For a moment, they frame Crowley’s face hovering above him, and Aziraphale observes, a little enchanted, the ochre eyes glowing in the face shadowed down here, and the dance of red locks swaying back and forth with every thrust of Crowley inside him.

The late afternoon light filtering in from above silhouettes the Demon, casting him in a warm, golden glow.

Crowley is lovely, heart-wrenchingly so, and not for the first time, Aziraphale’s entire being aches with the words he cannot give him.

It’s all right if he doesn’t say them now, though. It’s all right because when Aziraphale shakes apart, Crowley holds him close and warm, cocooned in cool water here on the unforgiving marble floor.

It’s all right because when they finally surface and take breaths of air they don’t need, Crowley looks Aziraphale in the eye and says,

‘Just so you know, angel, there is no one Above or Below or anywhere in between that you need be jealous of. No one.’

It’s all right because Crowley says them for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I over-research Ancient Rome and Nero just to write a bit of smut? Yes.  
> I have no excuse for this. In my mind, this idea was fun (and sho~rt). Idk what went pear-shaped during the writing process.
> 
> I've fallen behind on this challenge bc work has been hella stressful. But I'mma keep at it, so stay tuned, dear readers!
> 
> Drop a comment to share your thoughts? <3 You can also reach me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	13. (Kink-free) - almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **13\. Kink-free** \- When Aziraphale closes his eyes, he can almost believe that it’s Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note on content** : Aziraphale is male-presenting with a vulva, bottom!Aziraphale
> 
> This is set during Aziraphale's years attending the Hundred Guineas Club, a few decades after his fight with Crowley at St James. I'd call this an Ineffable Husbands fic overall, but it describes the one time that Aziraphale, pining for Crowley, sleeps with a human
> 
> In advance, I'd like to say I'm sorry for this fic

When Aziraphale closes his eyes, he can almost believe that it’s Crowley.

He fists his hands in the sheets of the bed, lest he involuntarily reaches up to grasp at shoulders too broad or hips too stocky and thereby ruin the illusion.

All he needs to feel is this, the steady thrusting of a hard cock into him, stretching him open, filling the empty void inside. With that, he can ignore the full girth of the waist around which his legs are locked. He can pretend not to hear the unfamiliar timbre of the voice grunting above.

He can almost believe that it is Crowley making love to him.

If Aziraphale were to open his eyes, he’d see red hair, bright and flaming and nothing like the dark auburn locks he dreams of touching. He’d see light hazel eyes with golden flecks and none of the luminosity belonging to the slitted gaze that takes his breath away.

He’d see the _rock bottom_ he has hit in the well of loneliness suffocating him ever since he had fought with - and stormed away from - the one being that matters most.

Thirty years. Thirty years seeing neither hide nor hair of Crowley, and this is what Aziraphale has been reduced to.

Shame creeps like bile up his throat, threatening to choke him. He bites down on his lower lip, trying in vain to stifle the pitiful sob welling up.

‘Am -’ There is a breathless grunt. ‘Am I hurting you?’

The fragile illusion shatters at the sound of that deep voice, which Aziraphale first heard perhaps an hour ago. The movements have slowed down. He looks up.

‘I’m fine.’ Aziraphale forces a tremulous smile at honey-coloured irises and straight crimson hair - the wrong colour, both of them - and closes his eyes again. ‘Don’t stop.’

 _And don’t, for the love of anything, speak_.

Aziraphale doesn’t think he can bear to hear that voice again right now. It is a truth he cannot block out, betraying him for the pathetic Angel he is, lying here underneath a stranger in a bed belonging to neither, playing make believe at an impossible fiction.

‘Are you certain?’ There is concern, touchingly genuine, in the voice Aziraphale doesn’t wish to hear.

‘I am,’ he replies firmly, but with a hint of a smile this time. ‘Do get on with it … Mr Crowley.’

A low chuckle wafts hot breath over Aziraphale’s lips. ‘Odd to still be so formal. But as you wish, Mr Fell.’

The cock, thick if a bit modest in length, drags along Aziraphale’s walls until the head catches on his rim. The weight above him shifts and then Aziraphale is stuffed full again, a pair of heavy bollocks and thighs slapping his arse in the rhythm he is getting used to. He concentrates once more solely on the feeling of being fucked.

The illusion is no longer within grasp, however, dispelled by the unfortunate interruption just now. Even with eyes closed, Aziraphale can no longer focus on the fantasy of his Crowley.

This is no longer Crowley making love to Aziraphale, but a gentleman by the name of Mr James Crowley sneaking a tryst with a bookseller by the name of Mr A.Z. Fell, in one of the rooms reserved for the more discreet activities that members of a certain exclusive gentlemen’s club engage in behind closed doors.

Later, Aziraphale may blame the sheer loneliness he has been living with since the 1860’s, for paying attention when this bold human approached him in the main hall of the club where members had gathered for brandy and cigars after a lesson in the gavotte.

He may blame the ginger hair and light eyes, heralding the confident utterance of that name - _James Crowley*_ \- for agreeing to follow him to this room upstairs.

(* Mr James pronounces his surname differently to the one etched in Aziraphale’s heart. It was as startling as it was a relief.)

But the reason Aziraphale had agreed to _stay_ was the man’s reaction to his chosen effort. He hadn’t thought to switch to the more traditional choice as they undressed earlier, and he realised his misstep only when the human’s eyes widened at the sight of his crotch.

Mr James Crowley had neither looked disgusted nor shouted loathsome things at Aziraphale. He did not leave. Instead, to Aziraphale’s surprise, the man had encouraged him to lie on the bed.

And then Mr James Crowley put his mouth to work at the Angel’s quim.

Aziraphale has had no prior experience to compare any of this with, but the human’s quiet acceptance of him was overwhelming. Once his legs stopped shaking, he thanked the man for his skill.

‘I may have been hiding my true self all my life,’ Mr James Crowley had replied somberly with one last kiss to Aziraphale’s cunt, ‘but I am dutiful in attending to my wife’s needs in our bed, apologetic though I am for deceiving her. Or perhaps, _because_ of it.’

It was in that moment that Aziraphale realised; they were two strangers, in pain and in hiding, seeking a lie from someone else to fill the empty spaces within.

Mr James Crowley was kind and accepting and no less pretending than Aziraphale. So he’d stayed and offered to return the favour, imagining the oiled fingers pushing inside his arse to be slimmer and longer.

But even now, as they hurl towards the end, Aziraphale wonders if this broken fantasy has done any good. His body is wrecked and shaking, but the pleasure, the pain, the soreness, all of it feels distant and abstract. Like things that don’t belong to him.

Blinking back tears, Aziraphale closes his eyes once more. It doesn’t work.

He forbids Mr James Crowley from finishing inside him.

Aziraphale doesn’t come again. He gets dressed and leaves the room with a soft goodnight, feeling emptier than when he arrived.

When Aziraphale next visits the club, and every time after that, it is only to dance the gavotte.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone that generally balks at Aziraphale and/or Crowley being with anyone else, idk why my brain took this route  
> This feels like the most transgressive thing I’ve written for this fandom, pls forgive me
> 
> I almost added a postscript-scene where Azi is finally with Crowley after Armageddon, happy and complete at last, but the tone of it felt a bit off - so y’all get just the angst instead :)))
> 
> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


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